Shock
by LoveIsSweetMisery
Summary: After a fight in 221B Baker Street John Watson is kidnapped from the surgery and Sherlock must find where his friend is before he is too late! Rated T for some scenes of torture. Eventual slash of SH/JW  you have been warned :P
1. Chapter 1: Kidnapped

**SHOCK...**

**Welcome to my first Sherlock fic...*breaks out the sparkling wine* .Now a quick thing to note...**

**This fic will eventually lead with the slash of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson (as they are frankly adorable together), so if you're not into that for whatever reason I'm sorry to say but this fic isn't for you. But if you are also into Merlin I can recommend some brilliant non-slash fics including 'The lost day' by SummerQuill! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the genius which is Mr Sherlock Holmes **

Sherlock Holmes had many qualities, some good, some bad, some genius and some verging on psychopathic. For many people these qualities were overshadowed by his amazing skills of deduction and rather abrasive personality. This however could not be said for his roommate Doctor John Watson who had done the impossible- he had managed to befriend the unfriendable.

That wasn't to say that the two friends got on constantly. In fact it seemed the strain of having a sociopath as a roommate often made John dread coming home at night through fear of what he would see. The incidents had ranged from the small such as finding a homeless man sleeping in his bed (a 'very important informant' Sherlock had said), to the rather more outlandish which had included coming home to a dead body ('I had to see the effect of dragging a body up the stairs for my new case' was his excuse).

John had learnt in all cases the best thing to do was to give a polite nod and allow the eccentric man to carry on his business (the exception to this rule being moving the homeless man out of his bed as John was sure the man had lice). Whilst Sherlock went on these mad rampages to solve case after case (which often resulted in John being dragged along too) John had decided to settle down a bit and get a real job in the GPs round the corner.

John remained in hope that one day he would come home and the flat would neither be a wreck or a sanctuary for the dead and homeless. Unfortunately for John that night was not the day...

"For God's sake Sherlock if you insist on putting eyes in the microwave will you please clean up afterwards." He shouted at the man sitting in the living room chair. His eyes then returned to the mess which Sherlock had made in the microwave. "Oh for God's sake Sherlock, it smells as well."

"Then I would suggest you do not smell it." Sherlock said dismissively.

John rolled his eyes and then opened the fridge. An assortment of unusual items were scattered amongst the normal food which included an old man's hat. John shook his head and delved in for the milk. He picked up the carton and studied its contents.

"Sherlock..." He called out.

"Yes." He replied back.

"Why didn't you get any milk?" He asked.

"I was far too busy today." Sherlock said before adding. "Couldn't you tell that from my experiment in the microwave?"

"Surely it wouldn't have been that much hassle to go to the supermarket." John said, slamming the fridge.

"Yes but supermarkets are such dull little places, filled with dull little people talking about their dull little lives." Sherlock said. "Also I needed to make sure that they eyes were in there for five hours exactly. A second longer and the experiment would have been counterproductive and pointless."

"I know that it is hard to believe Sherlock, but going to a supermarket is something which isn't optional. You need to do it." John said.

"And why would that be?"

"In order to get food."

"But there are many things to do in the human day, Why waste them getting food? Anyway I did text you that I would be too busy for your trivial tasks."

"You know full well that phones aren't allowed in the surgery!" John said. "Couldn't you have called me?"

"I prefer to text." Was Sherlock's response.

"Fine!" John said before storming up the stairs.

- :) -

John reflected upon his outrage of the night before as he waited for his next patient. He had not spoken to Sherlock since their confrontation and when he got back he intended to do the same. The familiar buzz came from the reception. He pressed the button and said down it.

"Bring them in."

A small elderly woman appeared through the door. She didn't walk in and it was more like a slow shuffle. John smiled at her and gestured towards the seat. She sat there and John smiled. The first moments of meeting a patient were always the most awkward.

"So, Mrs..." John said, before glancing down at the computer to find the small elderly woman's name. "Higgins, what appears to be a problem?"

"It's me back doctor..." She said.

Outside in the surgery waiting room Sarah stood at the reception desk. She leant against the wooden surface and glanced down at the computer screen. It was only twenty minutes until her shift started and already she was dreading it. The waiting room was starting to fill up with a large amount of ordinary people- only half of which actually appeared to be sick. It was so boring, and so dull.

And then it happened...

THUD

The noise came from John's office. Finally some excitement. People were looking around and staring at the room.

THUD

Sarah moved away from the reception desk and towards John's room with slight speed. She knew that she was being watched by the others. She attempted to open the door, but as she pulled down the handle the door remained closed. He had locked it...

CRASH

"Doctor Watson open this door." She said quietly.

No response.

"Doctor Watson open this door!" She said her voice raised slightly.

More heads were beginning to open.

"John open this damn door!" She shouted.

At that moment Dr Patel ran out of his room and towards Sarah. The waiting room was starting to fill with the buzz off gossip. Sarah pounded on the door and called John's name three more times in desperation. Dr Patel stood by her and said.

"What appears to be the problem?"

"John's locked himself in with a patient." She said to him.

"Well I'll just go and get a key from the reception desk." He said. He then walked over to the desk and searched through the key hook. He then raised his eyebrows and saw a blank key hook with no keys inside. He stared down to see if it had dropped at all. None where there. The key was gone.

He then ran over and pulled Sarah out of the way.

"What are you doing?"

"There's no key." He said. "Something must be wrong."

He then ran into the door and knocked it off its hinges.

"Shit." Was his only word to the scene that was before them.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes sat in his living room chair and studied the outside world through his windows. He glanced carelessly at the time and noted that he still had a full four hours until his roommate would come home. That would give him plenty of time in which to conduct and experiment in the study of what would happen to a dead body if it were emerged in some kind of frosting (for pure curiosity).

That's why the great Sherlock Holmes was not home when the phone rang bringing some rather important news. It was left to Mrs Hudson the land lady to pick it up.

"Hello Mrs Hudson speaking." She said down the phone. "Who's speaking?"

"Is Sherlock there?" A deep voice asked. "It's important."

"No sorry dear he's just gone out." She said. "May I leave a message?"

"Don't worry Mrs Hudson, I know how to track the great Sherlock Holmes even if he is too vain to admit it." The voice said. The phone then went dead.

- :) -

Sherlock stood by the dead body and examined it. He turned to the nervous assistant and said calmly.

"Yes he will do."

As Molly whimpered and began to lift up the body, the door slammed open. Sherlock Holmes didn't even turn around as he said.

"Anderson what the hell are you doing here?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade sent me." He growled.

"Well get out here." Sherlock said. "I can't work with you here."

"Why?" Anderson said.

"Your face is annoying." He said back.

"You haven't even seen my face yet."

"And yet still it annoys me."

"Lestrade wants you to see him now."

"Let me guess a case in which the brilliance of a criminal has once again outwitted the police force of London."

"Are you coming or not?"

"And why has he called me so early?"

"What makes you think he called you early?"

"Your face, it is red suggesting running which would be unusual as I would guess from the growing waistline that you have recently become more accustomed to getting a taxi." Sherlock said. "That suggests that Lestrade refused to let you take your ordinary taxi and you had to run over here. From the phone clutched in your hand I deducted that Lestrade threatened to call you within in a certain time and if you were not in the place you would have to suffer the anger he has due to his failing marriage..."

"Oh come on that is common knowledge that Lestrade is in marital counselling."

"Something which I did not claim you didn't know. Keep up." He snapped before saying. "Anyway due to all of these facts suggests that unlike other cases I must need to be there quickly. So I'm going to ask...what is special about this case?"

"It's Doctor Watson." Anderson said.

Sherlock froze.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes walked through the empty surgery. The two colleagues that Sherlock remembered were sitting by the desk, and the girl was looking upset. But Sherlock Holmes did not have time for all of this fake sympathy, and he presumed even if he did pretend it would be obvious through the tone in which he spoke. He then made his way into the room and through the tape.

"Sir you need to wear this." One of the police offers said.

Sherlock walked straight through.

Sherlock looked at the room. It was right what Anderson had been blubbering in the cab on the way there, the room was a mess. But there was something he had got wrong, something he had got so wrong.

"Anderson you said there was a sign of a struggle." Sherlock said.

"Well yes, I think that's quite obvious." Anderson said.

And to the untrained eye Anderson was right. There were books scattered on the floor, a plant was knocked over and the patients chair was broken. But the computer remained intact, with a blinking screen distracting them all. There were four for police men stuck in forensic clothes and Lestrade was amongst them.

"This wasn't a struggle..." Sherlock said.

"What do you mean this wasn't a struggle?" Anderson asked.

"By this wasn't a struggle I mean this was no struggle." Sherlock said. "The books are knocked over yet there is no sign of footprints. Surely if John was going to knock books to block an attacker, he wouldn't mind stepping on the same books to avoid capture. The window is broke from the inside, as you can see from the distribution of the glass to the outside. The chair in which the elderly woman is sitting is broken, and yet the one in which John sat was completely intact. That means that if there was an instrument used it was blunt, as you can see from the splintering, and that they were aiming first for the elderly lady...strange...very strange indeed."

"So then you think John Watson went willingly?" Anderson asked.

"No, that much is obvious from the imprint in his seat." Sherlock said. "There is a line in the middle of the chair. The line suggest clenching and clenching suggests shock. Doctor John Watson was not expecting the attack. However as you can see the line is not complete and at the top and the bottom the line is compressed. That suggests he fell off his chair."

Lestrade looked confused as the others.

"But Sherlock there are signs of blood on the desk, and the carpet."

"Both place opportunistically, but with direction towards the glass. However as you can see when you are looking outside there is no trace of his blood on the outside..." Sherlock said. "If he were bleeding he would be bleeding both inside and outside. This is not blood from his body, well not blood from his body today anyway. It was released from a valve."

"And how you can tell that?" Lestrade said.

"The blood is smeared in a more circular spread whilst if it were pouring straight out his veins it would have done so in a downward fashion." Sherlock said. "This person is clever..."

"What do you mean clever?" Anderson said. "You've been able to tell their every mistake."

"That's because they wanted me to." Sherlock muttered.

**DUN DUN DUN!**

**And so ends the first chapter...**

**Will Sherlock ever find the killer?**

**Will John ever be found?**

**Will Anderson's face ever stop being annoying?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	2. Chapter 2: Moriarty

**Shock...**

**Watson's been captured and Sherlock's just been called on the scene...so chapter 2 begins!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the genius that is Sherlock Holmes**

"What do you mean they wanted you to guess there wasn't a struggle?" Lestrade said. "Why would he create the illusion of a struggle if they knew it wouldn't fool you?"

"Because they knew if it appeared to be a struggle then that would shock the doctors in the surgery to calling the police. Doctors are caring people- that's why they go into the profession that and of course its pays are more than other 'caring' professions such as actually helping others purely out of the goodness of their hearts. Doctors are also accustomed to blood. They see blood- think danger- immediately call for help." Sherlock said. "Humorous really."

"And why would they want the police here quickly?" Lestrade said. "Surely that would impede their escape."

"Unless they didn't need to escape because they were leaving in clear view." Sherlock muttered. "Brilliant."

"So any ideas on who it is?" Lestrade asked.

"Many." Was Sherlock's only response.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes returned to 221B Baker Street at exactly 23:06pm that night. Mrs Hudson, the friendly landlady, didn't greet him that night. She had obviously been at the Gin. Sherlock swooped up the stairs and looked around the house. The smell of biscuits and a hint of bleach came from their flat. Mrs Hudson had been there- she'd been...

CLEANING.

Sherlock shook his head before going to his trusty laptop. The flat was dark, and he could feel his stomach rumbling. There was no point getting up though- there was no food in the fridge as John had been planning to shop that day. Sherlock could tell because the loose change on the counter had gone down by a pound- a pound for a trolley which meant that he was going to be getting the food for the rest of the week.

Sherlock sifted through the internet before admitting defeat. He picked up his phone and texted quietly. A ring soon followed.

"Ah Sherlock..." The proud voice said. "I was wondering when you would call."

"Mycroft." He acknowledged back.

"So, am I to assume this is a call to gather information about Dr Watson's disappearance?" He said.

"Been interfering in my life again?" Sherlock said.

"Dear brother, what are families for? As I have told you calls are the best way of communication." Mycroft said, his voice soaked with the superiority he usually carried. "Texts are so easily intercepted. Now I presume that you wish to know how you get into the blood donator's database."

"Have you been spying on me?" He asked.

"No no dear brother I am far too busy for that." Mycroft said.

"You've been paying Anderson."

"Did he let that fact slip them?"

"No...he had a tape recorder poking out of his jacket in the scene."

"I can't say I expected more of the man." Mycroft said. "But there is no use checking that. I already have. John Watson did indeed donate blood a month ago but that blood was in fact used to cure a Cuban boy in St Mary's hospital."

"I suspected as much." Sherlock said. "Which means the blood must have been extracted at an earlier time...or later."

"How precise of you, dear brother." Mycroft said.

- :) -

"Sherlock." Mrs Hudson called. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock awoke from his gentle slumber. He noticed that he was lying on the cold leather sofa that rested against the gun battered wall. The laptop was facing him and was propped diagonally against his hand. He had fallen asleep on a case...

That had never happened before.

"Sherlock I heard what happened to John." She said. "Terrible business..."

"Indeed." Sherlock said.

"So are you on it dear?" She asked.

"I presume so Mrs Hudson..." He said.

"That's good. I hope you find him soon, I miss him being around." She said. "Watching the morning telly is lonely on my own. Anyway do you want a tea love?"

- :) -

Sherlock swapped his usual taxi rides for a short walk to the doctor's surgery. The cold breeze of London weather hit against his face. He pulled up his scarf to protect his face with one leather bound hand. He made his way there in no time and before he knew it he was back at the scene of John's disappearance. He bent down to hold one of the books. The smell of Chanel perfume came behind him.

"Hello Sarah." He said.

"You didn't even see my face." She said softly.

"I didn't need to..." Sherlock said.

"What could you sense my presence?" She said, almost as if it were a joke.

"No, I could just smell your perfume." He muttered back.

"I should have guessed as much." She said, and then took a seat next to him. "Any clues on what's happened to him?"

"I think the situation is obvious- John has been kidnapped presumably by somebody who didn't like him."

"No I mean have you found any clues." She said.

"I am neither a cartoon dog, nor do I have a companion called shaggy." He muttered.

"It was a joke..." She said back.

"And it was in no way funny." He muttered.

"I know, I was just was trying to lighten the mood." She said. Sherlock merely nodded and then returned to studying the prints on the books. They looked like they were from some smart shoes, Italian it looked like from the markings. She then cleared her throat and said. "Do you have any idea what bastard did this to John?"

"You talk like he has been hurt, or killed."

"And don't you think he has?"

"I think it is a rash judgmental call from fear and little evidence." Sherlock said.

"Do you actually think that or is it fear that makes you say that?" Sarah said.

Sherlock looked around the place to avoid her gaze.

"Don't you have patients to tend to?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"No I'm helping someone now." She said.

"Well then I fear you're wasting your time." He said. "I am not John Watson, I do not care about your feelings nor wish to engage in small talk with you."

"I was only trying to help." Sarah scoffed.

She walked off and once and again the lonely detective sat only with his isolation for company.

- :) -

There was so much physical evidence that made the picture so unclear. The person who had done it was clever because they knew the obvious that they had left, was in no way going to find the location of Dr John Watson. Sherlock stayed for hours, and all he deducted was it was male who has size 10 feet, like Italian smart dress shoes and presumably didn't like to get his hands dirty...

That sounded familiar.

"Two, two one B Baker street." Sherlock said lifelessly to the taxi driver on the way back.

Sherlock walked into his flat and found an antique phone placed on his wall.

"Mrs Hudson!" He shouted down. "Mrs Hudson?"

"What is it dear?" She said, walking up the stairs.

"Why is there a phone up here?" He asked.

"Oh a delivery man came and put it up." She said. "It's very nice dear, where did you order it from?"

"I didn't order it." Sherlock muttered.

"Oh it must be a gift then dear..." She said, and then walked away. Her voice came from the horizon as she said. "Do you want a cup of tea Sherlock?"

- :) -

Sherlock sat by the phone and examined it. It was a vintage phone- that was apparent by the design, and also by the rust which congregated by the handset. Other than that rust though the phone was in remarkably good condition.

It was the dead of the night, when the ring awoke Sherlock from his shallow slumber.

He picked it up and held the receiver to his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes...so we meet again."

He recognized that voice, that posh tone which caused every morsel in Sherlock's body to pause...

"Moriarty." Sherlock said back.

"Oh...I was almost scared you'd forget me." Moriarty replied back. "But after our last meeting , I would think that it would be hard to forget."

Images of John strewn across the floor flashed through Sherlock's mind. His mouth ran dry.

"But even then...you could never admit your true feelings for the man." Moriarty drawled on slowly yet efficiently. "Even when he was on the brink of death..."

"He was fine." Sherlock snapped. "I knew he was fine."

"How could you have known he was fine stupid man?" Moriarty said. The images where getting clearer in his mind. The bomb, the explosion, the sound of pain. The never ending sirens...Moriarty's voice broke his nightmare as he said. "He was unconscious with blood dripping out of him. Are you saying you posses the medical knowledge or skill to see if someone is ok?"

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked.

"Your pet...well Sherlock that would be telling..." Moriarty said. "I want to play a game...I will give you ten hours to find the first clue. If you do not find it then your pet will suffer..."

The sound of the post came from downstairs.

"Oh looks like you have mail..." Moriarty said.

The phone went dead.

"Damn." Sherlock shouted and then rushed down the stairs. He grabbed the envelope and studied it with scrutiny. It was an expensive brand- that could be told from the thickness of the envelope, and the pure white colour. There was no address on it, nor any post mark. The only thing written on the front of it was to...

_Sherlock Holmes_

That meant the letter needed to be hand delivered...

Sherlock pushed open the door and looked out onto Baker Street. A dark figure was walking away, with a large trench coat covering him. Sherlock looked both ways. There were no other people in view, there was no recent track marks in the wet road. That meant one possibility- that the dark figure walking away was the one who delivered the letter...

Sherlock ran out of the door. The wet pavement was seeping through his socks. He ran towards the figure, his footsteps silent as he moved closer and closer towards it. He reached out forward and knocked down the figure. He pulled the figure up and turned them to face him. There were tears strewn down their face, and they were shaking. It was a woman.

"Where is John Watson?" Sherlock hissed.

"Please..." The woman cried. "Please help me."

"Where is John Watson?" Sherlock hissed, it was possibly she was lying. She had to be lying.

"I don't know. I was in my car and then a man came..." She cried. "He strapped these to me and then told me I had to deliver this letter..."

A red dot appeared on the person's head. Sherlock's eyes widened. Oh dear...

"What's happening?" She cried out.

BANG

**End of second chapter...**

**Will John ever be found?**

**Will the explosives go off?**

**Will Sherlock's socks be ruined forever?**

**Find out next time**


	3. Chapter 3: Molly

**Shock...**

**Watson's still captured, Sherlock's running on no evidence and now there is a gun involved...how can things get better?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the genius that is Sherlock Holmes**

Sherlock sat in the hospital with a blanket wrapped around him. He looked impatiently around and noticed that there was a blood splatter on his favourite top. It was a shame- it was Italian and everything. A huffy, tall and rather impatient Lestrade walked in.

"Sherlock you're in trouble..." He said.

"I did not shoot her..." Sherlock said. "It was done from a long distance sniper. That is obvious from the range of the blood splatter."

"No I don't mean with the law." Lestrade said. "I mean the fact you were seen running from your house without a coat, or even shoes on in the middle of the night."

"I needed to capture a suspect." Sherlock said. "And doing up shoes and fetching a coat would have been counterproductive..."

"Sherlock...you haven't been sleeping..." Lestrade said. "Your sarcastic comments are minimal...even to Anderson. I'm worried about you."

"Well don't worry I have one of these blankets again." Sherlock said mindlessly. "I heard they were good for shock."

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes sat in his flat alone that night. The nurses had bleated for ten minutes at how he should stay for his health but he had already wasted five of the ten hours being tended to for no injuries (minus blanket worthy shock).

He reached for the envelope out of his pocket. He paused momentarily and looked around. The place had become so clean- Mrs Hudson was obviously feeling sympathetic to the sociopath. He pulled it out and opened it carefully. As he look inside he saw a DVD placed carefully in. He removed the DVD and placed it into his television. He took a seat and watched on in horror.

John was sitting there with a terrified look in his eyes. He had a bruise on his head- and from the shape and size of it, Sherlock could tell it had been administered by a blunt object. Of course it made sense- he had been knocked out, the room then trashed and then they made their escape. Very clever- if deviant.

"Hello Sherlock..." He said lifelessly. "How do you like my new pet?"

Moriaty was talking through him again. Sherlock watched eagled eye as John continued.

"Oh this is fun. Look I can make him speak French- bonjour monsieur Holmes, ca va?" John said, he was beginning to shake. "Very fun this one, and very loyal too. I see why you keep him around."

Sherlock felt his hand tremble slightly.

"Now what should I make him do next?" John said. "Should I make him cut himself?"

John pulled out a knife reluctantly. His eyes always remained forward, Moriaty was obviously standing behind the camera- presumably with a henchman with a gun (Moriatry never liked his hands getting dirty). Sherlock began to shake slightly.

"It would be so easy." John said, he then swallowed before saying. "It would be so easy to kill him right now in front of you."

Sherlock moved forward- his hands began to cover his mouth.

"But what fun would that be?" John said. "The heart of Sherlock Holmes, right here in my hands, just waiting to be crushed. Because you aren't as cold hearted as you make out- are you Sherlock?"

"Stop it." He muttered.

"You are clever- cleverer I dare say than most. You're skills are extraordinary yet still you find it hard to socialize with those who aren't like us." John said. "They aren't geniuses, they cannot detect a software designer merely by his tie, or an unhappy marriage from the ring she wears. You were so lonely- weren't you? Until you met your pet."

"Stop it." He muttered again

"For when he came- your team was completed. A doctor- an army doctor none the less- who would be willing to work with you." "To marvel at your work and obey your beck and call. And all of the time before you never knew how much it could make you smile..."

"No." Sherlock muttered.

"Now Sherlock time is of the essence." John said "Tick tock tick tock..."

John looked forward with dead eyes.

"John." Sherlock whispered.

A gun appeared from behind John

BANG

The screen went blank

"NO!" Sherlock shouted.

- :) -

Sherlock remained looking at the television for ten minutes after the broadcast, rewinding the tape just to stare at the last image of John Watson on his screen. The man looked scared- deeply scared and yet still he had dignity. He did not cry like the other victims, nor did he try to plea. He just sat there, with a brave look and wide unblinking eyes. His hand did not tremble.

Dark curls surrounded wide unblinking eyes. The words that Moriaty had put into John's mouth were swirling their way deeper and deeper into his mind. The true extent of his feelings was beginning to bubble under the surface. They were beginning to cloud his judgment and already he could feel himself drop at least 10 IQ points. His feelings were begging to take over- and that meant that his deduction would take a back seat...

No he needed these powers to save John...

But it was how he felt about John which was stopping him be the best he could...

He needed to focus...

There was a clue in there...

But where?

- :) -

Tick tock tick tock...

Sherlock Holmes paced around his flat reflecting on the words. He glanced at the clock. He had three hours left till John would suffer. Why wouldn't his brain work? The things Moriaty had said...they must have lead to a certain place. A place where everything he said made sense...

It was early in the morning- for Sherlock Holmes anyway. Seven am to be precise. His steps were getting larger and his hands were beginning to rise. This was torture- even large torture than boredom- and that was saying something. It was like being Superman without his powers, or batman without his cape.

The sound of footsteps

"Oh hello Sherlock dear..." She said. "How're you feeling?"

"Perfectly adequate Mrs Hudson." He said.

"Any news on John?" She said.

The question he had been dreading...

"Everything yet nothing." He answered truthfully.

"Well you'll find him..." She said. "You always do...anyway dear I'm off to St Bart's hospital to get my hip checked out. I would normally just pop to the GPs round the corner, but after the you know...well it's very hard to get an appointment and I don't trust that female doctor...off her rocker if you ask me."

St Bart's hospital- known to those outside the area as St Bartholomew's hospital, was the place where Sherlock had first met John through a mutual acquaintance. He remembered that day well, sitting there in the lab with a bunch of experiments around him and then he had entered. The man, on first glance, was the most ordinary man Sherlock had ever seen...

Sandy haired, medium height with a frankly rather dull jumper.

And then he looked closer. The military service so blatant from the way he held himself, and the lack of support he had so clear from the situation he was in. He was a hardened man- not accustomed to making friends it appeared and he was isolated from who Sherlock then thought was his brother (though he found out later it was his sister). In short there was something appealing about the doctor.

And then it hit him

Of course

"I need to go now." He said shortly.

"Well you be careful Sherlock..." She said. "I do worry about you."

"No need Mrs Hudson." He said darkly. "I'm always ok."

And with that he walked down the stairs and out onto Baker street. The road had been cleared up sufficiently since the shooting, though a small red tint still remained on the road. There was a piece of laminated paper outlining the crime and already flowers were being placed by it. It was strange that this had happened so soon...

But he had no time to ponder that.

"Taxi." He called out, one arm outstretched.

- :) -

He arrived at the busy hospital ten minutes later. The place was crowded, as was to be expected at this time in the morning, but that didn't matter, he wasn't going to the public bit anyway. He walked down the flight stairs, and another one after that until he found himself in the underground labs. Molly, the nervy assistant, was tending to the dead bodies in the morgue. Sherlock walked up to her carefully, she was shaking and she still remained wearing her coat...

"Isn't it a bit hot down here to be wearing that?" Sherlock asked.

"Ah Sherlock." She said trembling, a pager was held in her left hand. She turned to face him, her face both terrified and stained by tears. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Awfully slow, weren't you?"

"Stealing voices still?" Sherlock asked.

"Is there any other way to communicate?" She said, swallowing slightly as she said. "Anyway, she loves me, I'm just Jim from...IT."

She was shaking, and she was visibly crying. Sherlock noticed that a red dot had appeared on her coat. She looked down at it, and cried out in fear. She then looked down and said, the pager in plain view.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked.

"Now that would be telling." She said. She then bit her lip before saying. "And what good is a game, when someone tells you how to win?"

Sherlock looked at Molly before examining the area. He could already spot two snipers, and he suspected that there would be a few more. The only mystery was...where was Moriaty?

"Looking for me then?" Molly said, drawing Sherlock's eyes to her. "I can tell you now you aren't going to find me."

Sherlock's eyes wandered.

"I wonder softly like a cloud..." Molly said.

"Stop it." Sherlock said.

"So you have finished the first stage." Molly said. "Now welcome to the second...but first I...I ponder you a question...Wie geht's sie, Herr Holmes?"

German...

" Du bist nicht so gut wie du denkst. Du hast schließlich John Watsonverloren. Du bist allein, du bist ganz allein." She said, she was so scared, so cowardly compared to the way John had held himself.

Sherlock understood every word...and what was worse was that Moriaty was right...he was alone- he was always alone.

"Und das war's" She said. "Auf Wiedersehen. Und im übrigen, du kannst die  
>Frau haben. Du hast noch sechs Stunden."<p>

6 hours...the time allocations were getting smaller.

The red dot disappeared and Molly dropped the pager. She fell to her knees and shook uncontrollably. Sherlock bent down to her and opened her coat. She whimpered slightly in protest, and there they were- the customary amount of explosives which would just be enough to blow up a house. Molly threw off her coat and pulled off the explosives. Sherlock kicked the explosives to the side of the room and then texted to Lestrade.

_In trouble- come to St Bart's morgue_

_P.S. Bring bomb squad_

_SH_

A ticking noise came from the explosives. Sherlock texted...

_Come quickly_

_SH_

**End of chapter 3...**

**Will Lestrade come in tim****e?**

**Will Sherlock work out the next clue?**

**Will Sherlock ever stop texting?**

**Find out next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Boom

**Shock...**

**Ticking bombs, mixing languages and a slightly hysterical lab assistant...things just couldn't be getting any better for Sherlock Holmes**

**Warning: Tick...tick...BOOM**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the genius that is Sherlock Holmes**

"Oh my God, I'm going to die." Molly whimpered.

"Will you please be quiet?" Sherlock asked as politely as he possibly could.

"But the bomb..." She said.

"Yes because I didn't realize there was a bomb there!" Sherlock said exasperatedly. "And by my calculations we still have two minutes...fifty two...no fifty one seconds."

"And what makes you say that?" She asked.

"Well the clock on the explosives gives some kind of hint." Sherlock snapped.

"We need to go." She said.

"Yes and the fact the door is locked would not be an impediment at all." Sherlock replied.

"How did you..." She asked.

"Why would Moriaty set off a bomb if we could just scamper away?" He said calmly before signalling to the door and said. "Go on try it."

Molly ran over to the door and attempted to pull the door handle down. It remained in its rigid position.

"It's locked." Molly called out. "Oh God...Oh GOD!"

"Shut up!" Sherlock groaned.

- :) -

Detective Inspector Lestrade ran into the hospital and straight into the annoucment centre. The bomb squad ran down the stairs. He caught his breath quickly before saying.

"Hello all this is Detective Inspector Lestrade of the London met police force." He said. "We have reason to believe that there is an explosive in the vicinity..."

The sounds of screams came from outside.

"Please evacuate the building immediately!" He said.

"RUN!" Was the loudest scream amongst the noise.

Lestrade ran out of the announcement room and made his way through the surge of panicking people. He pushed past with an air of authority which appeared to have no impact on the terrified masses. He felt himself being pushed towards the exit. He had to use all of his strength just to stay inside. He hoped the bomb squad didn't face the same problem.

- :) -

The bomb squad ran down the stairs and towards the door. The head of it- armed with a large riot shield and a helmet knocked through the door. There Sherlock was, standing bored with a terrified lab assistant clinging onto his neck. She was crying and the small amount of explosives were in the corner of the room.

"Finally..." Sherlock said with his eyes rolling.

BANG

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes stirred slightly...

He opened his eyes with precaution and found himself lying in a clinical environment...

He was in the hospital and as he looked down he noticed he was still in his blood stained clothes. Good...he hadn't been there long...or long enough for him to be changed into the standard hospital gown. That meant he had been there an hour at most. He looked down at his arm. He was attached to a heart monitor and a IV drip. Ripping both out, he walked cautiously over to the mirror...

He had ten stitches in his lip, and his right cheek had a large burn on it.

The sound of the heart machine sounded...

Three nurses, two of which were male, came running in. Sherlock looked at them all dully, and the tallest of them walked over to him. Funnily enough it was the female.

"Sir..." She said. "I must insist you get back to your bed."

"And why would I do that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're injured sir." She said. "And it's our duty at..."

"St Bartholomew's hospital to implement a certain level of care..." Sherlock said. "Yes, yes, yes I have heard this all before but the real question I want answering is what time is it?"

"What?" One of the men asked.

"What is the time? The position of the sun...the display on the microwave...the number of hours..." Sherlock said, his voice dripping with exasperation.

"It's ten, now Mr Holmes will you please get back to bed." The woman said.

"You're divorced aren't you?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" The woman said.

"There is a band on your ring finger which is clearly lighter than the rest of the finger though it appears you have attempted to crudely covered it up with foundation..." Sherlock said before adding. "Sorry no...powder."

"Will you please get back to your bed Sir?" She said, her voice slightly sterner.

"That marriage ended due to an infidelity, no other reason would be painful enough to wish to cover up the whole idea you have been married all together." Sherlock said. "From the band on your finger I can assume it wasn't you...unless your lover knew you were married. Someone whom you spent a lot of time with, maybe seen as a shoulder to cry on whilst your husband went on business trip...which implies you worked with in close proximity with..."

The male nurse on the left's pupils looked to the left.

"Maybe a fellow nurse?" Sherlock added.

"Get into your bed now before I call for the restraints." She snapped.

"Have I offended you?" Sherlock asked.

The male nurse on the right laughed.

"The doctor will be with you shortly." She snapped before storming out. The other two nurses followed her.

He had lost three hours...three whole hours in which he needed to examine and solve the next clue left by Moriaty's words. His words...his German words...

It all made sense...

Rache- the German word for revenge- something which Anderson had falsely presumed meant that Jennifer (the lady in pink) was of Germanic decent. That of course was wrong- as anything Anderson usually said was- and in fact turned out to be the name of her child whom she had lost years prior to the event and the password to her account...

And that word had first entered Sherlock's life when he went to examine her body, accompanied by John Watson for the very first time...the first time they really became a team...

Sherlock Holmes looked around the room. It was an exceptionally ordinary with a bed and a cupboard. Sherlock walked over to the cupboard and attempted to open it. It was locked- well of course it would be locked, otherwise some mental patient would get it. Fortunately for him- he was no mental patient...

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes walked out of the room in a full nurse's uniform with a trolley. He walked down the corridor quickly yet efficiently. The three nurses that he had encountered earlier were nowhere to be seen- presumably his meeting earlier had the desired impact. He made his way to the end of the corridor and opened up the nurse's trolley to gather his clothes.

- :) -

A fully dressed Sherlock Holmes sat in the back of the taxi with his phone in his pocket. He grabbed it out and looked down. Two new messages...

The first was both predictable and unneeded.

_SHERLOCK GET BACK HERE NOW_

_Lestrade_

The second however was of more interest.

_Injury doesn't stop the clock ticking..._

_Tick tock tick tock_

"The next right." Sherlock barked.

"Calm down dear." The cab driver said quietly.

- :) -

Sherlock looked up at the old house with dark eyes. It seemed so long since he had been excited to see the place- so excited at the prospect that this would finally be the thing to cure his boredom for that week. And the fresh faced Watson who had been so excited to be joining him there, and unlike the rest he would work for him.

Sherlock knocked down the door and walked up the stairs. The room still had the dusky, dark and dingy qualities which it possessed the last time. He looked around, and remnants of police tape were still hanging up. Clearly the place hadn't been used since. After a few flights of stairs he entered the room in which she had been. A white outline of a body was in the centre of the room.

"Well I'm here now..." Sherlock called out. "Moriaty?"

"Ah Sherlock..." A shaky voice echoed. "I was afraid you'd be...indisposed."

"A rather predictable assumption after someone has been in an explosion." Sherlock said. "Rather a pity then that the explosives were only at half power..."

"You...You're good Sherlock." The shaky voice said.

"I notice you've stolen another voice." Sherlock said.

"Well...the same voice...gets rather monotonous don't you think?" The shaky voice continued. "You should really try it Sherlock- it's rather entertaining."

"I prefer my own one thank you..." He answered back.

"Oh yes...it would rely on a dependence on people..." The voice said. "And you don't like that...do...you...Sherlock? Because reliance...makes...you...weak..."

"So where is the next clue then?" Sherlock asked.

"All...in...good time...freak..." The voice said.

A figure emerged from the darkness. A familiar face surrounded by dark curls and despite her fear a look of utter dislike was spread across her eyes. Sally Donavan walked forward with cautious steps and a red dot made its way onto her chest. She was still wearing her winter coat...

"So...you...figured..." She said through tears. "Out...the...clue"

"Hardly takes a genius to solve such a simplistic clue..."

"And yet still...you...took..." Sally whimpered. "So long..."

"I don't have time for your games..."

"Isn't...this better than being bored?" Sally said, her eyes streaming with tears.

"There are lives at stake..."

"That...never...bothered you before." Sally said. Sherlock looked down and bit his lip. "Is...that repentance Sherlock?"

"Where is John?" Sherlock asked.

A phone rang from the corner of the room. Sherlock turned to face the antique phone- the same antique phone which had been in his flat- right down to the rust detail on the phone.

"The phone of destiny calls Holmes..." Sally said shaking through the tears. "Dare you answer it?"

Sherlock looked at Sally before walking towards the phone. It could be a trap, in fact there was a 62 percent chance of it being a trap but his curiosity took over him as he walked over to it. He picked up the receiver and placed it to his ears.

"Hello?" Sherlock said down the phone.

**Chapter 4 finito...**

**Will Sherlock find out the caller?**

**Will John be near?**

**Will Sally ever stop crying?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**

**BTW can I say a MASSIVE thank you (or danke) to 'blackdog-lz' and 'special control group' for helping me with my German! :)**


	5. Chapter 5: Hugs

**Shock...**

**Sherlock is alone with Sally, explosives and a potential psychopath and the phone starts ringing. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Warning: A lot of hugging**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the genius that is Sherlock Holmes**

"Sherlock...It's Angelo!" A loud voice boomed. "What's up my friend? Do you want to book a table?"

"No..." Sherlock said calmly. "You rang me..."

"Sherlock I think I'd know if I'd rang my best customer!" Angelo said. "Now do you want a table for you and your boyfriend?"

John...

"John Watson is not my boyfriend..." Sherlock said.

"Of course not..." Angelo said. "Anyway you want a table for nine?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Well that's what you texted earlier..." Angelo said. Sherlock looked down at his pocket with eyes of utter shock. There was only one thing he could do- lie.

"So I did..." Sherlock said shakily. "See you then Angelo."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

When Sherlock Holmes turned around he noticed he was once again alone in the room. He put down the receiver and stepped around the place. The explosives that Sally had been wearing were on the floor and there was a small note attached to it. Sherlock walked forward and picked it up quickly. The package was ticking and as he read the note his eyes widened in surprise.

_Tick tock tick tock..._

"Oh dear..." He said before running.

Sherlock was used to running by now. Being the worlds only consulting detective required a lot of running as well as remarkable face strength (to face all of the hits, punches and slaps he had to endure). He ran down the flights of stairs, jumping two at a time, until finally exiting the house through it's rather poorly constructed front door. As he backed away he heard a big crash...and the glass from the upstairs windows shattered outwards.

"We've found him sir!" An unfamiliar voice said.

"There you are Sherlock!" Lestrade said as he ran towards him. He however paused a few steps behind him and his voice was considerably sourer as he said. "Oh God...what have you done this time?"

- :) -

"So it's Moriaty whose holding John hostage?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock looked around the spacey police station in boredom. This had been the third time clarifying that indeed it was Moriaty, and yes he was sure and yes he realizes that it is not his job to police London it was in fact the police's job...

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Sherlock said finally, his voice slightly too loud for the enclosed space. "Yes!"

"And you..." Lestrade asked...oh so predictable.

"Yes I am sure and yes I am aware that this isn't my job!" Sherlock said, almost exploding. "Why bother speaking if you have nothing of note to say?"

"So why were you at the house?" Lestrade said.

"Because that was where he wanted me to go..."

"You could have got yourself killed..."

"Moriaty doesn't work like that..." Sherlock said calmly. "He doesn't want me dead...that wouldn't be fun for him."

"And how would you know what Moriaty wants?"

"Because he is clever..." Sherlock muttered. "Oh he is oh so clever. And he is bored...and there is nothing worse for a clever mind than to have nothing to do..."

"You sound a lot like him when you talk like that..." Lestrade said.

"Maybe that's because I am."

- :) -

Sherlock was allowed out of the station around two hours later, as long as he promised neither to go back to the house nor to investigate it even further. Naturally he was lying- a fact which he suspected Lestrade knew but by now had learnt there was no point in arguing. Sherlock got into his customary taxi and whilst travelling he looked down at his phone. In the sent box he scrolled down till he saw Angelo's number...

_June 16, table for 2 at 9_

_SH_

So he wasn't going to dine alone tonight then...

- :) -

Sherlock arrived at the restaurant exactly nine minutes early. He stood outside and scanned the surrounding area for any signs of life. It appeared to be as every Thursday night in London was- that being busy but certainly nothing compared to the hustle and bustle of a typical Saturday night. He stood there and looked down at his watch. Five minutes to go until he needed to be inside, and he would not enter a second earlier or later.

Sherlock walked into the restaurant at exactly 9 o clock with his head held high. He was wearing a blazer, black trousers and a white shirt with the top button undone. It was John's favourite outfit, or so the doctor lead him to believe. As soon as his foot stepped foot in the place Angelo was ushering him to his table.

"Ahhh Sherlock..." He said. "Your date's here!"

"For God's sake Angelo not every ma..." Sherlock said before his shock caught him out of speech. A tall dark woman sat on the table, with black hair tied up and a notepad in front of her. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and said. "Sorry, have we met?"

"Mr Holmes?" She said, getting up off her chair. "Finally I can put a face to the name."

Sherlock looked at the woman. She was calm and had even a faint smile painted on her face. In short she was the height of professionalism and didn't seem out of her depth at all. He scanned her quickly for any signs of blackmail or explosives. This was very unusual.

"Do you want to take a seat?" She asked.

"Of course..." Sherlock said. He then took the seat on the opposite end of the table to the woman. They both sat down and Angelo handed the menu and loudly exclaimed the meal was on the house and regaled his tale of how Sherlock had saved him from imprisonment. As soon as the energetic waiter left Sherlock said. "So you are..."

"Oh yes John mentioned that you were not exactly clued up on therapy..."

"You spoke to John?" Sherlock asked.

"Well of course." She replied.

"And how was he?" He asked.

"We're here to discuss you...not John." She said.

"Just tell me how he damn was." Sherlock said, his voice was so loud that the family on the table next to them turned to stare at him.

"I will not treat you if you're violent."

"Treat me for what?"

"You know exactly what for..."

"Well obviously not otherwise I wouldn't ask."

"The first step towards healing a drug addiction is admitting you have a problem..."

"Well I've obviously missed the preliminary step and forgotten to get a drug addiction."

"Is it true you were three nicotine patches at one?"

How did she know about that?

"Only when I need to think." Sherlock replied back.

"So you rely on the drugs?" She asked.

"I didn't say that." He said.

"Hm...well we have a program which I think would be good for someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"We have a drug addictions anonymous group..."

"Well it's hardly anonymous if you can see the other people..."

"And it meets every Friday at seven at night in the adult's education centre near here..."

And then it clicked. Oh Moriaty was good, he was so good. Booking the table, getting John to call his therapist and induct the great Sherlock Holmes into a drug addiction meeting which no doubt would include feelings and worse...holding each other's hands and talking about some stupid prayer. But that was the only way he was going to find John. And that is why the great Sherlock Holmes said the next stupid words.

"Oh...I need help..." Sherlock said shakily, before shedding a fake tear and saying. "It's just been...so lonely."

She then did something unexpected...she hugged him. Sherlock sat there stiffly as she embraced him closer and closer...a small grimace made its way onto his face.

- :) -

"So gang we have a new member." The overly cheery group leader said gesturing towards a dark looking Sherlock. "Group this is Sherlock Holmes..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response as the drug addled members. From his initial scan he could tell that two of them had used that day, three of them had used that week, and the other six had been clean for around two weeks. He quickly plastered on a fake smile...which only managed to last for a few seconds.

"So now tell us a bit about yourself Sherlock..." The group leader asked.

"Hello my name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm a consulting detective..." He said.

"That isn't a job." The overly long haired twenty six (give or take a few months) year old said.

"And your bands aren't just worn for fashion statements..." Sherlock snapped. "How many times have you injected yourself this week?"

"Now now Sherlock...we don't point fingers here." The group leader said.

"My fingers, along with my hand are by my side." Sherlock said (which was true as his arms swung either side of him).

"Now Sherlock..." The group leader said in a voice which suggested she had already labelled him as a trouble maker (rightly so). "Tell us why you are here..."

"I thought that would be fairly obvious given the circumstance..." Sherlock sneered.

"Now come on, everyone's journey is different..." The group leader said.

"Ok well the taxi driver was incompetent and took the wrong left on..." He said back.

"I mean your emotional journey..." The group leader said, her voice was beginning to be strained.

"Well I did feel rather sad that I'm missing eastenders because of this..." Sherlock replied.

"Come on Sherlock share with us..." The dumpy man on his right said.

"Yeah..." The dumpy woman next to him said.

"Come on mate, it won't hurt." The rather skinnier woman next to her said.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and with one look I can tell everything about you. To maintain these skills of deduction I have to occasionally indulge in chemicals which are considered by the authorities as drugs..."

"Well done!" The dumpy man said.

"Thank you for sharing." The dumpy woman said.

"That was beautiful..." The skinny woman said.

"It really wasn't..." Sherlock said.

"Come here..." The dumpy woman said, and then embraced him in a hug.

"Oh dear God..." Sherlock muttered as she pulled him closer to him. Why did this keep happening to him?

Sherlock sat through the rest of the meeting with a fairly sour look on his face. One by one each one of them talking about their metaphorical 'journey' and how they were on the road to being a 'better person' though through not much deduction and pure instincts knew that approximately 80% of them were lying. The meeting ended with a prayer, and of course the customary hug (which again Sherlock refused).

Sherlock stayed in the room for a few seconds before heading towards the door. As he opened the door, his path was blocked by an Italian shoe of size 7, which was polished within an inch of its life. Sherlock looked up to see a familiar banker.

"Sebastian!" He said.

"Hello Sherlock..." Sebastian replied.

**End of chapter 5...**

**Will Sherlock ever come to admit his problems?**

**Will Sebastian give Sherlock the answers he needs?**

**Will the people ever stop hugging?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	6. Chapter 6: Houses

**Shock...**

**Sherlock has just been hugged by the unwashed masses and then a banker turns up! How can this day get any worse for our favourite sociopath?**

**Warning: Sherlock's fighting the world!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius which is Sherlock Holmes**

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"Well I thought I'd get a bit of the hugging action." Sebastian replied back.

"How long have you been standing there?" Sherlock said.

"Long enough..." Sebastian said. Before Sherlock could interrupt him he said. "But that's not important, is it Sherlock? We both know we are here for an entirely different reason.."

"I should have known you would have been involved with this..." Sherlock muttered.

"And why would that be Sherlock? Because my tie is slightly off my top button or I part my hair slightly to the left?" Sebastian taunted.

"No..." Sherlock hissed. "It's because I've always found you an utter bastard."

"Rather crass don't you think Sherlock?"

"No, I believe in this circumstance it is entirely appropriate..."

"Now now Sherlock I know we are dealing with rather delicate situation but there is no need to be unpleasant."

"Where is he?" Sherlock shouted.

"All in good time my sociopathic friend..."

"I'm not your friend..."

"Pity..." Sebastian said, the words rolling off his silver tongue. "You would have been a useful commodity."

"What you will find out now must stay in this room." "You are to seek no help from anyone nor tell anyone you need help. If they are to offer it, you must reject it in the coldest and most efficient way."

"And let me guess I shall be tracked at all times to make sure that I don't go and ask for help anyway."

"You know Sherlock there's a reason they call you the best."

"That hardly took a genius to figure out."

"But under pressure those skills are extraordinary." "Anyway, I lose focus. You are to retrieve a key...a key which will lead you to free John Watson."

"What's the catch?"

"Now Sherlock that isn't very trusting is it?"

"You're not a very trustworthy person, I feel distrusting is a natural reaction."

"Well you'll have to trust me right now..."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because John Watson's life depends on it..."

- :) -

Sherlock stood outside the community centre with the banker.

"So where were we then?" Sebastian said.

"You were about to make me trust you..." Sherlock hissed.

"Oh yes..." Sebastian said. "And trust me you shall..."

"Obviously..."

"So I will give you an address..."

"And at that address the key will be..."

"Yes..."

"And what's the catch?" Sherlock snapped.

"The what..." Sebastian said.

"The catch..." Sherlock said impatiently. "The test, the game, the thing I must do..."

"And why would I tell you that?" Sebastian replied back naturally. "It would ruin the fun."

The banker handed the detective a slip of paper, then left.

- :) -

22 Northumberland Street...

It was a perfectly ordinary end of terrace house in west London. It was of a medium size, worn brick and Victorian outside. At first glance it looked almost similar to Sherlock's own home but small details showed the two occupants were far different from himself and his companion.

The garden was slightly overgrown but nothing which had been there more than three weeks. That suggested that the occupants cared about appearances but some event had stopped them from keeping up their all important first impression. Maybe a child...no it couldn't be a child, the pavement was uneven and a woman who lived in a place like that would have that sorted. Of course...marital issues.

It was obvious when Sherlock took another look...

The garden had a small smear on its otherwise gleaming surface. It looked like it had been from a result of something being thrown...something with a glass jar from the small chip on the side. From the slight tinge he guessed it was jam.

He was stalling...

Sherlock stepped forward and crossed the road. He walked up to the house and slipped down the alleyway which was against the house. He walked as if he were just a man, just taking a stroll on just another night. His eyes diverted to the back gate. He looked around quickly before opening the lock ever so slightly. There was no second defence...something was wrong.

He pushed the back gate open and walked down the path. The back garden was a mess. They hadn't had guests in a while then...Sherlock looked at the back window and noticed that there was a black out curtain covering the living room, and the back door was wide open.

He walked down the path and into the back door. The microwave was open...yet there were devices on the cupboards to stop them slamming. Something didn't make sense...the kind which would pay for safety devices on the cupboards wouldn't leave a microwave open. Certainly not after the Daily Mail published its recent findings..

Sherlock walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. As he pushed the door open he saw two masses lying on the floor. Sherlock looked around and noticed two red splatters on the wall, and the two bodies were slumped by it. He bent down quickly and looked at their faces. They still looked in shock...even though there were no colours...

"What the Hell Moriaty?" Sherlock called out.

Sherlock bent down and examined the bodies. There was a man and his wife (shown by their matching rings lying down there.

Sirens rang...

"You've got to be kidding me..." Sherlock muttered.

Blue lights flashed in front of the window.

"Oh obviously not..." He then said, getting up. The blood was on his hands. He cursed as he realized, he had done just what Moriaty had wanted.

Three police officers, and two community support officers ran down the path. Sherlock knew there was no reason to run- only guilty people ran. The door fell down and the three officers in full riot gear fell in. The main officer- a portly man of thirty- ran up to him.

"Sherlock Holmes..." He said. "You're under arrest."

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes sat in a chair with his wrists cuffed behind his back. He was in interrogation room B, which only meant one thing...he would be interviewed by her.

Sally Donavan walked into the room in a haughty manner...clearly she was still affected by their last meeting.

"So freak..." She began. "I see you've finally done the inevitable..."

"It wasn't me." Sherlock replied back. "That is clear to anyone with half a brain cell..."

"Well our forensic team begs to differ." She interrupted.

"Which is lead by Anderson?" He rebuked. "Like I said, it is clear to anyone with half a brain cell that I didn't do it."

"So why were you in the Smith's house anyway?" She asked.

"I was visiting." He said.

"At twelve o clock at night?" She asked.

"Just the way they liked it..." He said coldly.

"You better start talking Holmes..." She replied back in the same tone. "You could be locked up for life."

"Preposterous." He said casually.

"What, you think we won't do it?" She asked.

"No I think you will do it." He said. "But the likelihood that I won't be released to help consult on a case, or get released in five years is very low."

"You're not modest are you?"

"I never claimed to be."

"So if you didn't do it, who did?"

"I don't know." He said back, his voice was bored by now. "Maybe they had an enemy, or a neighbour who was getting annoyed that their garden was slightly overgrown..."

"Do you think you're funny freak?" She said. "People have died."

"I know." He said back with so much conviction. "But I wasn't the one to kill them."

"You know who did it..." She said. "Why don't you just save yourself?"

"Because I obviously don't know..."

"Don't say I didn't try freak." She said before leaving the room.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes lay on the bench in the holding room staring at the ceiling.

Moriaty had meant for him to be caught...that was obvious. But what was to happen to him next. How would this be the key to John being released? Would his arrest lead to John's freedom? To Sherlock this seemed unlikely...

"Sherlock..." A posh voice called out.

Sherlock turned his head lazily to face his brother.

"Ah Mycroft..." He said. "I see you've given up the diet."

"And I see you've given up the law." Mycroft replied back. He then walked deeper into the room and said. "Mother always said you'd see these walls one day...you've always been curious."

Sherlock remained staring at him.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"I want to know why you decided to get caught." Mycroft asked bluntly.

"Once again your skills of deduction fail you." Sherlock muttered. "Why would I want to get arrested?"

"Firstly Sherlock, do you really want to test my skills of deduction?" Mycroft said before adding. "You are smart Sherlock, maybe not so much to my level but enough to evade capture..."

"Well clearly you are mistaken." Sherlock said coldly.

"I'm trying to help Sherlock." Mycroft said.

And then something inside the cold Sherlock Holmes snapped.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, getting up. "Why do I need help? I planned to get captured, didn't I? So leave it dear brother and help someone who needs the support of whatever part of the government you have attached yourself onto."

"You know mummy didn't like it when we argued." Mycroft said.

"Well she's dead now." Sherlock hissed. "And you might as well be too."

"I know you don't mean that Sherlock..." Mycroft said coldly. "But you are testing my limits..."

"What limits?" Sherlock said menacingly. "I thought the secret service beat you out of that..."

"Do not test me Sherlock..." Mycroft said.

"Mummy wouldn't like you speaking like that.." Sherlock said.

"You know what Sherlock..." Mycroft said. "I can tell you need my help, but are just too stubborn to ask for it, because that would be cheating in this so called game you have going with Moriaty. A game which is costing lives, friendships and most of all has robbed a young doctor of her love John Watson.."

"John's in love?" Sherlock asked.

"He has been dating Sarah for months now..." Mycroft said. "Did that escape your skills of deduction?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Brother I will tell you this now." Mycroft said. "You're intelligence and deduction skills are extraordinary but that does not exempt you from human emotion and most importantly right now the law...I will save you this one time but after this you are on your own."

"And how exactly will you save me?" Sherlock hissed.

"All in good time brother." Mycroft replied and then left the room without any gesture, any smile or any usual smug comment.

Sherlock sat in the room and looked around. He was no closer to finding John Watson, he was in a police cell alone and he was a suspected murderer. He was beginning to think that this game would have no happy ending...

**Chapter the sixth hath endeth...**

**Will Sherlock get out of prison?**

**Will this game ever end?**

**Will Anderson ever get a full brain cell?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**

**(P.S. Sorry for the slow update but have had exams )**


	7. Chapter 7: Court

**Shock...**

**Sherlock has been arrested, his brother's losing his patience and everyone thinks he is guilty of killing a married couple under the name of the Smiths. It is fair to say his options have been decreased...**

**Warning: Sadness :( and references of Watson!**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own the genius which is Sherlock Holmes **

Doctor John Watson felt a cold splash on his face.

"Wake up pet!" Moriaty's voice rang.

John Watson looked up and around the darkened room. Well this was new...

"Where..."

"Are you?" Moriaty asked. "Well that would be telling."

John tried to move his hands. He felt the rubbing of rope against his wrist. He looked down and saw himself tied up against an old fashioned chair.

"Well isn't this quaint." John said.

"Forever joking aren't you Doctor Watson?"

"When appropriate..."

"Now I want to play a game with you..."

"Why do I have a feeling that's a lot less fun that it sounds?"

"You're a funny one aren't you?" "I see why Sherlock Holmes keeps you around."

Sherlock...

"Where is Sherlock?" Watson growled.

"So many questions...so little motivation to answer." Moriaty answered lazily.

"Is he safe?" Watson shouted. "Damn it Moriaty- is he safe?"

"I'm bored of you now..." Moriaty said, and then lazily tossed a smoke bomb before walking away.

A small amount of smoke surrounded Watson as he struggled in his chair. He felt his arms and legs fall by his side. He moved his shoulders frantically as he felt his eyes become heavy. He fell into a forced slumber...

- :) -

Sherlock sat in interrogation room A with Lestrade. It was a dimly lit room, with only one main light hanging loosely over them. Sherlock's eyes wandered around the room.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade said wearingly. "Tell me who did it..."

Sherlock's eyes darted to Lestrade.

"That would imply I know who did it." Sherlock replied.

"You always know who did it..." Lestrade said desperately.

And he did but for the first time in his life Sherlock Holmes had to not show off his skills and instead take the blame. Because otherwise John would die.

"What are the charges exactly?" Sherlock asked

"2 counts of homicide, breaking and entering, robbery..."

"So a total of around fifty years in prison?"

"This is something to do with John's disappearance isn't it?"

"I think it's a bit presumptuous to say that..."

"Sherlock look..." Lestrade said. "The police can help you...if you ask for it."

But he couldn't...the game disallowed it.

"I do not need help." Sherlock answered.

"So be it..." Lestrade said.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes stood by his lawyer...

Sherlock had been in trouble before. He had spent many a night in a police cell, been chased by the police and had them checking his flats for drugs whenever Lestrade wanted to blackmail him into a case. But he had never stood in court being the one who was being tried against.

"Sherlock Holmes..." A rather pompous, recently married young barrister, said. "Were you at Northumberland Street at 12:52am on Saturday 26th May?"

"Well obviously." Sherlock replied.

"And you were spotted over the corpse of the Smiths covered in Mrs Smith's blood?" He asked.

"Which must prove I am guilty?" Sherlock sneered. "It is clear to any forensic team with any common sense..."

"Do you feel it wise to insult the police now?" The barrister cut in.

"If they need it, yes." Sherlock said. "Now may I continue?"

The barrister glared at him.

"Thank you." Sherlock said. "Anyway the blood smear on my shirt, which was taken into evidence just after the suspected murder, is in a rounded shape. There is no blood distribution anywhere else, wouldn't that seem odd that I could stab someone without a struggle?"

"Perhaps because the married couple trusted you?"

"I didn't even know them."

"Then why were you in their house?"

Sherlock bit his lip, he couldn't answer without giving away John.

- :) -

Sherlock sat in the back room of the courts...

"Damn it Sherlock enough with the games!" Lestrade shouted. "Tell me who bloody did it."

Sherlock looked at Lestrade. The man was panicked, and from the smell coming off the jacket, and the slight burn on his forefinger it was clear he had smoked the cigarette down to its stub. Obviously it had been a roll up one- probably because that's the only one the corner shop sold.

"I don't know who did it." Sherlock replied back.

"Don't be stupid, you always know who did it."

"Clearly I don't."

"Sherlock, if you don't tell us who did it you will go to prison." "Sherlock this is serious."

"I am fully aware of the seriousness of the situation."

"Then please let us help you."

"I don't need help."

"For God's sake Sherlock." "It's Moriaty isn't it?"

"There is no evidence he was there, nor had any motive to do so." "Saying he did it would only anger an already sour jury."

"The jury seems ok."

"Three of them are in marriage counselling and one of them is having an affair which I presume is with one of their partner's relative."

"Sherlock...stop changing the subject."

"Why? There's nothing we can do- the jury already think I'm guilty and the longer we drag on the trail the more things they dig up and the longer I will be in prison."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think you're the only one who has the power to search my apartment?"

- :) -

"This..." The young barrister said holding up a bag of white powder. "Was found in Mr Holmes's apartment."

The jury glanced judgementally at him.

"Sherlock, can you indentify the substance in the bag?" The barrister said mockingly. He then said. "It's cocaine isn't it?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied back.

"And if I'm right, cocaine is a class A drug..." The barrister said.

"Oh dear God..." Lestrade muttered just loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"And there is an awful lot here..." The barrister said. "Mr Holmes have you been supplying anyone with these drugs?"

Sherlock looked down.

"Have you?" The barrister pressed.

Lestrade looked at him expectantly. Sherlock looked up at the barrister.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

Lestrade's mouth fell open.

- :) -

"You've been dealing!" Lestrade shouted at him.

"To get information!" Sherlock said.

"Oh for God's sake."

"You didn't seem to mind the results my methods produced."

"I didn't think even you'd be that arrogant to think you could get away with drug dealing..."

"How long am I looking at?"

"Life Sherlock..." Lestrade muttered, his head fell in his hands before he mumbled. "You're looking at bloody life."

"Great."

"Sherlock enough is enough." Lestrade shouted. "I am ordering you to tell me who did it."

"I'm not one of your staff." Sherlock replied.

"You are in trouble Sherlock." Lestrade pleaded. "Stop trying to resist my help."

"As I've said..." Sherlock said.

"Yes you don't need help." Lestrade said resigned and tired. "You know Sherlock I wonder why I bloody bother..."

And with that the middle aged detective left the room.

- :) -

"Mycroft Holmes..." The barrister said.

"Present." Mycroft answered.

"Were you aware of your brother's illegal activities?"

"And which illegal activities are in question?"

"Drug dealing..."

"I thought this trail was because of a murder..."

"Yes but..."

"So therefore his supposed substance abuse and activities aren't applicable unless there were drugs present in his blood sample after the attack." Mycroft said. "And I believe from the evidence he was completely sober, and no traces of illegal drugs in his blood stream."

"That is correct." The judge said.

"Are you aware of your brother's profession Mr Holmes?"

"I believe he is a consulting detective."

"That isn't a profession."

"I believe that is why he does it." Mycroft said. "Even as a child he always wished to be unique."

"So in his profession he has had a lot of contacts with murders?"

"Yes."

"Murders which the police require his assistance on?"

"I believe so."

"So, he would know how to cover up evidence which the court has not found."

"If my brother had of committed a murder there would have been no evidence on which to charge him."

"Why has he done it before?"

"No, but as you said, he would know how to cover up evidence through experience."

"Mr Holmes broke into a house of people he claims he doesn't even know..." The barrister quizzed him. "Do you have any explanation to why your brother would do that?"

"My brother has never been good with boundaries set either by the law or what is considered socially acceptable..."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because my brother is not like other people Mr..." Mycroft said- pausing through lack of information.

"Harrison." The barrister said. "Mr Holmes are you insinuating your brother has a mental disorder?"

"Yes." Mycroft said.

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock.

"And what disorder do you believe your brother to have?"

"As a child he was diagnosed with Holmes's syndrome..."

"This isn't on his records..." The barrister said incredulously. "And that isn't even a disease..."

"That is because our father did not wish this to become public knowledge." Mycroft said clearly. "He thought that if it did become apparent to those he included in his social circle that Sherlock would be isolated from society, and wouldn't be treated like the others..."

"And was this 'Holmes's syndrome' extreme?" The barrister said, stressing his apparent disbelief at the disease.

"According to the doctor it was the most severe 'Holmes's syndrome', and in fact only Holmes's syndrome that he had encountered in twenty years of practising."

"And what is this Holmes's syndrome?"

"It is a mix of many mental disorders which combined together to make a perfectly functioning individual yet an individual which has no need to conform, nor need to obey and does not understand fully the emotions of a human being." Mycroft replied.

"And why should we believe this Mr Holmes?"

"Because I have the medical certificate which proves it..." Mycroft said, retrieving a file and handing it to the judge.

"This is all in order..." The judge said.

Sherlock glared at his brother.

- :) -

"This is how you help me?" Sherlock shouted. "By telling them I'm mentally deficient?"

"Technically Holmes's syndrome doesn't mean you are mentally deficient." Mycroft said. "It just means you perceive things differently to others."

"That was private knowledge..." Sherlock shouted back.

"It was the only way I could stop you going to prison." Mycroft answered.

"How exactly do you think this will stop me going to prison?"

"They are talking about moving you to a secure facility."

"A mental facility..." Sherlock said. "How the hell is that any better?"

"You will not be in danger..." Mycroft answered.

"Yes I will..." Sherlock said. "What with their patronising, and drugging of their patients."

"Well according to Mr Harrison you are already accustomed to introducing intoxicating substances into your blood stream." Mycroft replied.

"Those substances sharpen my skills not dull them..." Sherlock muttered. "It's completely different."

A short woman entered the room before Mycroft could say anything.

"Mr Holmes..." She said. "The jury has reached their decision."

- :) -

Detective inspector Lestrade sat on the steps outside the court room. He had a roll up cigarette hanging from his fingers. He took one large drag from it before blowing out its white smoke. Footsteps came from behind him.

"I had been told that you had quit." Mycroft Holmes said.

"Well things can change." Lestrade said back. He then turned back to Mycroft. "What am I going to do? Murders are turning up left right and centre since news of Sherlock's arrest has hit the headlines."

"I am sure that you shall encounter others who can aid you." Mycroft said.

"None like your brother..." Lestrade said with his eyes focused on Mycroft. "And the criminals of London know it."

"I'm sure you exaggerate detective." Mycroft said.

"No..." Lestrade muttered. "And now he is locked up in some God damned secure mental facility."

"He is allowed visitors." Mycroft said.

"Occasionally." Lestrade said. "And even then it'd be supervised and recorded. I'm a respected officer of the met police force- I can't be seen to be asking help for a convicted killer."

"He didn't kill the people." Mycroft said. "You know as well as I do that if he killed someone he wouldn't be caught."

"Well the whole world thinks he did it...and now he's gone." Lestrade shouted, before composing himself and saying. "Sorry, I just guess I didn't think he'd end up in one of those facilities..."

"Then you were the only one." Mycroft answered back.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes stared out of the window of the armoured ambulance as he was driven into the London Institute for the mental disabled and disturbed. It was strange but he always had a feeling that someday that he would end up there- after all many had predicted it.

The ambulance drove up to the entrance of the building. It was clinical, yet had some character to the building. A few residents were ambling around the grounds with vacant looks on their face. Sherlock looked behind. There were walls all around the place. It was official...

Sherlock Holmes was trapped

And worse...they looked like huggers.

**Chapter le sept c'est fini!**

**Will Sherlock ever escape?**

**Will Watson ever be found?**

**Will Sherlock face another hug?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	8. Chapter 8: Help

**Shock...**

**Sherlock's been locked up :( and the whole world appears to be giving up on him but will he give up searching for John Watson? **

**Warning: References to slash**

**Disclaimer: Guess who still doesn't own the genius Sherlock Holmes?**

Moriaty sat in a plush chair in a large office with an antique phone pressed against his ear. He wore a twisted smile on his face. He had just received news that his nemesis had just been set to a mental facility- just like he had planned to do so. He hung up the receiver and jumped out of his chair with glee. He then turned to the unconscious Doctor Watson who was sitting in a chair with rope tied around him.

"So Doctor Watson..." Moriaty said. "Your dear Sherlock has been sent away."

Doctor Watson remained sitting there with his head hung down and his eyes shut.

"The soldier falls..." Moriaty said with a smile. He then reached in his pocket and scrolled through his phone. He selected his contact and dialled. He then said. "Activate sleeper agent 224."

"And what would you have him do sir?" The voice asked.

"I want him to find Sherlock, gain his trust, break him out and bring him to me." Moriaty ordered.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes paced in his office. A crowd of suited people surrounded him.

"Moriaty knows the location of my brother." Mycroft said. "This was inevitable as he was the one who planned him to get there."

"You mean he knew that you would tell others about him sir?" A suited man in glasses said. "He knew that you would do that instead of prison."

"It was a lapse of judgment on my part." Mycroft said. "But I knew that I too would be swayed by my protective desire over Sherlock. So I have placed a sleeper agent in the home..."

"Very good sir." Another spectacled man said.

"However Moriaty is no fool." Mycroft continued. "He is an intelligent man, maybe not up to my capabilities but certainly an equal match for my brother. He too will have placed a sleeper agent and Sherlock will suspect this."

"So do we need to make sure this agent is clearly sent by you?" The first spectacled man said.

"No, we need to do the opposite." Mycroft said. "We need to make him think they were sent by Moriaty."

"But if your brother knows it's Moriaty agent he surely won't trust it." A portly man sitting on the sofa said.

"No he won't trust it." Mycroft said. "And that's exactly why he'll follow."

"But if he follows he knows he'll be in danger." The woman sitting next to Mycroft said.

"And in danger...he'll find Doctor John Watson." Mycroft said.

"Excellent." The second spectacled man said.

"Elementary." Said Mycroft.

"So what will you have him do?" The first spectacled man asked.

""I want him to find Sherlock, befriend him, break him out and bring him to me." Mycroft ordered.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes sat in his cell/room for most of his days trying to figure how to get out of the place...

But as he evaluated it in his mind he noticed something different. Something rather irritating. There seemed to be no way out which didn't involve him having some sort of abnormal mutation which could allow him to go through walls.

"Dinner time!" A woman chimed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lay on his bed. A rather beefy guard of around forty unlocked his room and moved towards Sherlock.

"Dinner time Mr Holmes." He said.

"I'm quite aware of that." Sherlock answered.

"I'm going to have to insist you come with me Mr Holmes." He said as he reached forward.

"Don't bother." Sherlock said as he got up. "I'm quite capable of walking myself."

Sherlock Holmes got out of his bed and stood there. The guard then handcuffed Sherlock to himself and the two walked forward. Holmes's eyes darted to each room as he took note of all of his new neighbours he had accounted over the week. Many of them like him were here because of criminal convictions though he doubted that all of them were in here for such serious cases as he was. He could already tell that the man who was a few rooms down from his was faking it as his twitch altered greatly each time and the man opposite him had a terminal illness- presumably something to do with the amber rings which were around his eyes.

Sherlock was sat at the table and his left hand was handcuffed to the dinner table to prevent him escaping. It had only been a week and already he had been thrown in solitary for causing a rather portly man break a wall through telling him from the wording of his wife's letter that she was having an affair ("Probably with your brother or maybe a cousin" Holmes said) leading to a rather large riot. He was now in trouble for attempting to break out of the home through the gutters bellow the hospital. He had almost made it- if it hadn't had been that the guard took an unexpected cigarette break (which Holmes could tell because through careful observation he found that the guard generally only took cigarette breaks if the residents didn't behave themselves but at dinner time that day everyone was impeccable).

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" A smooth male voice said behind him.

Sherlock turned his head. Mr Gregory Kings from the room next to him was standing there holding his own plastic tray.

"You want to sit next to the sociopath who caused a riot on his first day?" Sherlock asked.

"It beats having to hear Mr Whiles over there talking about his dancing cat." Gregory said with a large smirk on his face.

"Very well." Sherlock snarled.

"My name's Gregory by the way, but you can call me Greg." Gregory said with his hand extended for a shake.

"Ok Gregory." Sherlock said, ignoring the hand completely. Gregory lowered his hand.

"So, what are you in for?" Gregory said, apparently not put off by Sherlock's manner.

"I believe the nurses told us that our information was to remain confidential." Sherlock said.

"Don't be such a square!" Gregory said. "Everyone talks about it anyway. See I'm here cause my old man was abusing me and I finally got back at the old bugger. See easy- so why are you here?"

"I do not wish to disappoint you Gregory but I am not one for small talk." Sherlock said.

"Who says this talk has to be small- I want to know the details!" Gregory said.

"I would suggest talking to Mr Hilliard over there then." Sherlock said, his eyes focused on the large man with a shining bald head. "He has his mouth open to eat everything in sight the vast majority of the time so it would be minimal effort for your rather ironic small 'big' talk."

"Nah his stories boring- just a wife abuser." Gregory said. "Anyway I want to know about you!"

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because no one knows anything about you." Gregory said before violently stabbing a carrot. "You never talk and if you do it is only about deducing things about other people- nice work on the wife cheating thing by the way. You sit on your own all of the time and don't make friends..."

"Maybe because I do not desire friends..." Sherlock said.

"Don't be stupid everyone needs friends!" Gregory said, before adding with a cheeky grin. "Only psychopaths don't have them."

"Well I'm a functioning sociopath, and we also don't like them." Sherlock answered. "Now if you excuse me I must try and examine my meal for pills- they have been trying to slip them in my food since I have refused to ingest them."

"Yeah I heard about that." Gregory said. "Apparently you don't like them because they will make you stupid."

"If you're anything to go by I believe my theory to be correct." Sherlock said, looking at Gregory for the first time. Gregory didn't seem to notice and laughed.

"You really don't want friends in here do you?" He said.

"The only thing I want out of this place is to be out of it." Sherlock said before his eyes returned to his plate.

"What about if I could help you?" Gregory said. Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet him.

"And how exactly would you help me?" Sherlock asked.

"Meet me in the exercise court half way through the session and I'll tell you everything I know."

"And why would you help me escape?"

"Cause I want to too."

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes was returned to his room twenty minutes later. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. His eyes scanned from one end of the room to the other for any routes of escape. As always he found none. It had been designed by someone who wasn't a fool- though maybe lacked vision. His foot patted on the floor gently.

"Mr Holmes..." A female voice sounded.

Sherlock looked up. Standing there was the resident psychiatrist Doctor Wilson.

"I'm not scheduled for another 'chat' thank you." Sherlock muttered.

"I hear you have finally made a friend here."

"Then you must get your ears checked." Sherlock said. "I am incapable of forming attachments remember?"

"Now Sherlock that's not what I said now is it?" Doctor Wilson said. "I said that you found it difficult to form attachments."

"So if I found it difficult would I have formed it over a single lunch time?"

"Now Sherlock your brother is talking about visiting you..."

"And you have of course told him I would rather rot in here."

"He says it is news about John Watson."

"And this news cannot be articulated in written form?"

"I think it would be beneficial for you to speak to your brother."

"And why on earth would that be?"

"Because you do not need to be in here Mr Holmes." Doctor Wilson said, and then quietly added. "And if you talk to him he can retract his evidence and you can be retried again."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I know an innocent person when I see one."

"I'll consider my options." Sherlock said. "You may leave now."

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes walked into the exercise court at 3:00pm despite having no intention of walking. He sat in the corner of the exercise yard and kept his eyes focused on the clock. He had seen Gregory or 'Greg' as he had nicknamed himself going to play basketball with a few of the other inmates. His acting skills were not to be desired as Sherlock caught Gregory staring at him on a number of occasions.

"I wouldn't trust him." A male voice said behind him.

Sherlock Holmes turned to face the male voice. A tall man of around twenty looked back at him with blonde curls surrounding his face.

"I have no intention of doing so..." Sherlock said quietly. "But thank you for the warning."

"He's told you he can get you out of here right?"

"I knew someone was listening in." Sherlock said simply. "You must keep your breath's quieter but that can't be easy with asthmatic tendencies..."

"Have you been reading your file?"

"No simply your mouth shape."

"He's promised several others that he'll get them out but it's never amounted to anything." The tall man said. "Just someone he doesn't like getting transferred. But if you want to get out of here...I can help you."

"I am beginning to feel that I am not wanted in this place..."

"You exude your apparent distain at being here with minimal subtlety."

"You hide your intelligence well." Sherlock said. "And why if I cannot trust Gregory, should I be able to trust you?"

"Because I am not him." The tall man said. "Meet me at lunch tomorrow by the men's toilets at 12:51 sharp."

And with that the curly haired man disappeared into the mass of mental patients. Two thoughts ran through the detectives mind.

The first and foremost was which one of the apparent helpers was sent by Moriaty and would therefore ensure delivery to John Watson, and which other one would be sent by his brother and would then make him safe and therefore as far away from John Watson as possible. And who was the master of the third agent?

The second was a sudden realization that in all of this anguish Sherlock had not had a haircut in months and that his hair may look like a dark version of the curly haired stranger.

**Bye bye chapter 8!**

**Will Sherlock chose the right person?**

**Will Sherlock figure out the other sleeper agent's master?**

**Will Sherlock cut his hair?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	9. Chapter 9: Decide

**Shock...**

**Three agents and only one of them will lead to John. The real question is which one should Sherlock choose?**

**P.S. I'm so sorry for the late update...exams and supernatural distracted me! I've written an extra long chapter to make up for it! SORRY!**

**Warning: Mohahaha evil twists!**

**Disclaimer: As usual someone does own the genius Sherlock Holmes...and it isn't me**

"There's a third agent in the building sir." The bespectacled man said.

"I thought as much." Mycroft said back.

"You know who it is Sir?" The bespectacled man asked.

"I believe so." Mycroft said.

"Who is it Sir?" The bespectacled man said.

"The most dangerous woman known to man Johnson." Mycroft whispered.

- :) -

The bespectacled Mr Johnson stood in front of a homely cottage just a few meters away from the cliff face with Anthea at his side. The two inspected the cottage twice over before turning to each other.

"This is the most dangerous woman known to man's house?" Johnson asked.

"Yep." Anthea replied before returning to texting.

"Ok...let's go in." Johnson said.

Johnson and Anthea walked towards the cottage with some doubts before knocking on the door. A quick shuffle and a bang came from inside. Johnson reached for his gun in his front pocket before the door opened. A woman of around sixty years of age with silver hair in a bob answered.

"Hello dear." She said before looking down and saying. "Now I know this sounds an incy bit mean but I don't really like firearms in the house. Set that up as one of the holiday home rules after Sherlock's little incident."

"Little incident?" Anthea asked.

"Oh yes he shot one of the neighbours by accident because he found out the neighbour had been blackmailing his father- nasty business." Mrs Holmes said. "Anyway so would you please leave it in your car?"

"Yes Mrs Holmes..." Johnson said.

- :) -

Anthea (glued to her blackberry) and Johnson sat on a plush sofa in the middle of her living room. It was a grand room with many homely touches including a few pictures of pale boys with dark hair in uniform.

"So do you want a tea or a coffee?" Mrs Holmes asked.

"We're fine thank you Mrs Holmes." Anthea said.

"Fair enough but I'm getting you a biscuit dear." Mrs Holmes said. "You're looking a bit peaky...I suggest next time when you go to a man's house you ask the good man to get you breakfast."

"I was never at a man's house last night..." Anthea retorted.

"Oh dear don't worry I won't judge you." Mrs Holmes said. "God may though."

"Huh?" Anthea said, her eyes finally prised away from her blackberry.

"I'm just yanking your chair dear." Mrs Holmes said. "Anyway what can I do for you two? I'm going to guess Mycroft sent you."

"And why would you say that Mrs Holmes?" Johnson asked.

"Well darling because Sherlock's a bit busy right now..." Mrs Holmes said, "And I don't get many other visitors."

"Mycroft wants you to retract your agent Mrs Holmes." Anthea snapped- clearly frazzled by the old lady's company.

"Now dear why on earth would I do that?" Mrs Holmes asked.

"Mycroft believes Mrs Holmes that it would only be an impediment to Mr Holmes's rescue." Johnson said.

"Now I have nothing against the gays dear." Mrs Holmes said.

"I'm not gay." Johnson interrupted.

"Don't kid a kidder love." Mrs Holmes said. "The angle of your back gives you away dear..."

"Now hold on..." Johnson interrupted.

"Leave it Johnson." Anthea cut in.

"Anyway can you respectfully tell my son, that I am his mother and I will make the right decisions for my own son." Mrs Holmes said.

"Then I'm sorry we have to do this..." Johnson said.

"Oh dear...you think you're going to kidnap me?" Mrs Holmes said. "I'm the one who raised them darling...where do you think they learnt it all Mr Johnson?"

"Code 323." Johnson said into the microphone in his sleeve.

"Well I think that is rather rude to call me a hostile force Mr Johnson after I offered you biscuits." Mrs Holmes scolded. "That's the problem with the youth of today!"

The doors busted through and six uniformed men ran in. Mrs Holmes however didn't seem very alarmed and instead seemed more put out that they had left footprints on her carpet. They surrounded her with guns and shouted. She however just stood there with a small smirk on her face before gently clapping her hands.

"Goodbye." She said.

The blinds fell down on the window and it all went black.

"Get Mrs Holmes and find the light!" Johnson shouted.

A lot of shuffling, bangs and an odd muttered swear word ensured until finally Anthea found the light. The spot where Mrs Holmes had been standing was empty except a small note left on the table beside. Johnson looked at it nervously and attempted to poke it with a fire poker.

"Oh for God's sake." Anthea said, handing over her blackberry and walking to pick up the note. She swore under her breath before looking down. "Oh she's got to be kidding!"

"What is it?" Johnson asked. "A death threat?"

"No she wants us to bloody feed her cat!" Anthea said.

- :) -

"Ah Sherlock you actually came." Gregory said as Sherlock approached him.

"You sound surprised." Sherlock said.

"That is because I am." Gregory said back. "So want to hear my grand plan then?"

"There is no other reason for us to be speaking." Sherlock answered without much feeling.

"Ouch Sherlock that sharp tongue could pierce through souls." Gregory laughed. "Now Sherlock how much would you be willing to stake for this escape?"

"And why must you ask this?" Sherlock asked.

"Because my friend..."

"I'm not your friend." Sherlock interrupted.

"Comrade then." Gregory said before adding in an unusually serious tone. "Sherlock this will not be easy."

"I am aware of that."

"If you are caught you will not be put into isolation again." Gregory said again with that same serious tone. "They don't like runaways in this place."

"I am aware of the consequences."

"I have a plan in my room. I will show you it at 12:23 at Lunch tomorrow."

"And why could you have not brought it today?"

"Because I need to see if you keep your mouth shut." Gregory hissed.

And Sherlock soon found himself alone once more.

- :) -

John sat in a chair with a trickle of blood coming from his head. Sweat stained his forehead and the beginnings of a beard were on his face. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. Moriaty stood over him with a cane.

"Your dedication surprises me." Moriaty said calmly. "And I am not one to often be surprised."

"What do you want of me?" John said though his voice was no more than a whisper.

"I want you to be honest Johnny boy." Moriaty said to him.

"About what?" John asked.

"Admit it Doctor Watson..." Moriaty hissed. "You and Sherlock Holmes are not just friends are you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Doctor Watson...how long have you had feelings for Mr Holmes?"

"I..." John said, choking on his words. He stammered as he said. "I...don..."

"Do not try to deceive me Doctor Watson...you lack dishonesty and genius to do so." Moriaty cut in.

John looked down.

"Doctor Watson as a child I was told my inability to feel would inhibit my growth..." Moriaty said with a sadistic smile. "But as I see you here, I am reminded why I told them they were wrong."

He whacked John Watson over the head with his cane and John let out another cry of pain. He grunted and looked down at the floor. Moriaty walked away from him and left John alone in the room. The ex army doctor looked down and a single tear ran down his cheek.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling when Mr Larson (the head of the unit) and several armed guards bursted in. Sherlock acknowledged their arrival by giving them a lazy look of annoyance.

"Sherlock we need to check your room." Mrs Larson said.

"That is a complete invasion of my privacy." Sherlock replied back.

"You should have thought about that before you murdered someone." The largest guard said and he then shoved Sherlock to the floor. Sherlock let out a small grunt of pain.

"Quiet now Joans...just search the room." Mr Larson ordered.

The guards all searched the room and just as Sherlock thought he was safe the smallest of them removed his secret brick. Three clear packets filled with powder spilled out.

"Sir...I found something." The guard said.

"I think it's time you, me and Doctor Wilson have a little chat." Mr Larson said.

- :) -

Sherlock sat in Mr Larson's office with Mr Larson and Mrs Wilson. He had been handcuffed to the chair and the other two people in the room sat comfortably on their plush seats.

"Now Sherlock we had talked about your drug problems." Doctor Wilson said.

"And I still retain it isn't a drug problem." Sherlock said.

"How long have you been taking these?" Mr Larson snapped. "And more importantly where the hell did you get these from?"

"With the staff you hire it's hardly a profoundly difficult task." Sherlock said.

"You've got an addiction Sherlock..." Doctor Wilson said.

"It's not an addiction if I don't take them all of the time." Sherlock pointed out.

"Look Richard would it be possible if I could speak to Sherlock alone?" Doctor Wilson asked Mr Larson.

"I don't know if that'd be wise Doctor Wilson." Mr Larson said back.

"Look Richard..." Doctor Wilson said under her breath to Mr Larson. "Sherlock Holmes is a difficult man...and getting him to admit his problems his hard enough without there being an authority figure present."

"Fine Rachel." Mr Larson said to her. He then turned to Sherlock and said sternly. "Ok, Holmes I'm going to have guards outside, the window is locked and if you touch Doctor Wilson in any way I shall have you locked in isolation again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Sherlock hissed.

Mr Larson walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Sherlock sat on his chair staring at the psychiatrist. Doctor Wilson got out of her chair and sat on the desk casually.

"Sherlock, you said your drug use was limited to when you have a lack of stimulating cases." She said calmly.

"And you think I have an abundance of cases here?" Sherlock hissed. "I am a wanted felon Doctor Wilson and Lestrade was taking enough risks hiring me in the first place."

"But you are trying to get out of here to save your friend Mr Holmes." Doctor Wilson said kindly. "Is that not stimulating enough for you?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"Or Sherlock is the problem is that the case is too stimulating?" She suggested.

"Do not try to diagnose me Doctor Wilson." Sherlock snapped as the sudden realization of the truth hit him.

"Why ever not? It is my job after all." She said, without much hesitation. "Mr Holmes...how long have you possessed romantic feelings for Doctor Wilson?"

"How could I posses feelings for John Watson if I do not have a heart Doctor Wilson." Sherlock said coldly. "Remember? I'm a sociopath..."

"We both know that's not true..." Doctor Wilson said.

Sherlock diverted his eyes away from the doctor.

"And how do you know this exactly?" He said.

"It is obvious from your mannerisms that you take some moral background." She said. "Otherwise you would be no better than a common criminal."

"And how do you know I'm not?"

"I have worked with them for years Mr Holmes...I think I of all people would know." Doctor Wilson said. She then gave a warm smile and retracted a pot of pills from her pocket. She thrusted it towards him and said. "Now it's time for your medication."

"I refuse to take it." Sherlock said.

"And why would that be?" Doctor Wilson said. "From the evidence today it appears you have no problem ingesting external toxins."

"It dulls my senses." Sherlock said. "I'll never get out of here if I'm on those damn things."

"They're there to help you." Doctor Wilson said.

"Fine."

Sherlock put the pills in his mouth as the psychiatrist nodded. He rolled them to his cheek and stored them in by the walls of his mouth. He mimicked swallowing and looked at the woman. She nodded her head before getting up. As the psychiatrist walked out of the room he spit the pills into his hand and threw them under his bed. At least his talk had made something clear...that was no agent of Moriaty. Sherlock knew that Moriaty wanted him out as much as he did- just to watch him suffer.

- :) -

Sherlock ate his food with precision that meal time. As usual he started with the carbohydrates and cut each one of them into exact eights. He ate his meal slowly and kept a close eye on the curly haired stranger. He was more subtle than Gregory and did not once look at Sherlock. Sherlock continued to eat his meal in peace until a red headed Gregory interrupted him.

"So Sherlock you've kept your mouth shut." Gregory said.

"I believe it has been open for food ingestion and breathing." Sherlock said.

"Well you know what I mean." Gregory snapped before retracting a large sheet of paper out of his coat. "Anywhere here it is."

Sherlock examined the paper with scrutiny. It had a detailed plan of the drains in the unit and had the start point of the pool used for physical rehabilitation. Sherlock looked around the plan and noticed parts he had labelled for where the alarms were and the several ways in which to avoid setting them off.

"Looks good." Sherlock said.

"Thanks." Gregory said. "I just got one question for you before we go."

"And what would that be?" Sherlock said- his eyes setting on the mental patient.

"Who are you breaking out for?"

"What leads you to assume my incentive is a human companion?"

"The way you try..." Gregory said. "I've never seen a human act the way you do without someone to do it for."

"Well I'm not like normal people."

"Don't try and kid a kidder mate." Gregory said. "Well whoever it is- don't let them go alright? They must be someone special for you to have seen them as worth your time. Ten o clock tonight- don't be late."

- :) -

Sherlock walked to the toilets exactly five minutes before the curly haired man had said. Sherlock knew his type...he would be at least three minutes early. Luckily for Sherlock the mystery man was not to disappoint. He walked into the area two minutes after Sherlock with a subtle smile.

"You appear to have misjudged my promptness." The curly haired man said. "But then again you were distracted at lunch."

Sherlock looked at the man.

"Aren't you going to deny it?"

"Why would I deny something which was in broad daylight?"

"You are not one for sugar coating are you Mr Holmes?"

"Sugar coating is for those not strong enough to say their opinions."

"Too true." The curly haired stranger said. "Now I am an impatient man Mr Holmes so I must warn you that this a limited time offer."

"I didn't expect anything less."

"Meet me at the sanatorium at 10 tonight."

"Aren't you going to outline the plan?"

"I prefer to work on my instincts Mr Holmes." The curly haired stranger said.

Sherlock was left standing by the toilet with his logic wrestling beneath his skin. It was almost painful to know that for once the great detective truly had no idea which one would lead him to John and which one would lead him to fail. He did not trust either of them, but he had no choice anymore. He had to save John, or he would fail and the only person he had ever felt drawn to would be lost forever.

**Will Sherlock chose Moriaty's agent?**

**Will Mrs Holmes ever be caught?**

**Will Sherlock ever make friends?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	10. Chapter 10: Guns

**Shock...**

**So the night has finally arrived and Sherlock has to make his final choice. All that is known that he will not be in his cell the next morning for better or worse...**

**Warning: This really is against the man (yeah!)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine * sad face ***

Sherlock Holmes looked around his room at 9:49 for what he knew would be the last time. The loose brick which he had stored his drugs had been confiscated for evidence. Sherlock retracted the knife from his pocket which he had taken for dinner and moved towards the door. The guards would be switching in precisely 3 minutes 20 seconds. Sherlock began to slowly pick the lock. However unfortunately for him this guard was mighty curious as well. Sherlock retracted the knife and put it into his back pocket. The door swung open.

"What the hell were you doing?" The guard said.

"And hello to you as well." Sherlock said.

"Enough of your funny business Holmes." The guard said. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

"Which one- the one with the weak retina or the one which has a stigmatism?"

The guard seemed to take this personally and grabbed Sherlock from the top of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. His feet dangled slightly off the floor.

"If I was allowed to hit you Holmes..." The guard snarled.

"I believe threats are also against the protocol." Sherlock said calmly. "And I believe it is if I were allowed to hit you..."

The guard immediately dropped Sherlock to the floor. Sherlock stumbled on his landing but remained on both feet. A smug look was on his face.

"Bloody freak." The guard snarled before leaving.

Sherlock stood by the door with the guard's keys in his hands. Years of pick pocketing Lestrade when he was annoying were finally paying off. Sherlock watched as the portly man disappeared down the corridor. He stole one last look before opening his door and creeping out. A mischievous smile made its way onto his face as he made his way towards the guard's office.

- :) -

Sherlock made his way along the corridor with much speed. A guard hat rested on his head and a loose uniform drooped over his slender frame. He took a right and looked at the signs. He was making the right way. He walked quickly as he moved closer and closer to his destination. He spotted the blonde haired stranger standing outside the sanatorium. He had made it.

"Ah Sherlock." The blonde haired stranger said. "You made it."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." Sherlock said back. "Danger attracts curiosity after all."

"So you figured it out then?"

"I will admit that you are in fact not a complete idiot."

"From you I take that as a compliment." The stranger said. "Please do tell what gave me away..."

"You're intelligent- Moriaty does not like to consult with idiots. In my line of work unfortunately means that I have to consort with such people and therefore have become an expert in identifying them." Sherlock said. "The woman Dr Wilson who was my brother's agent was warm and cared like he wishes to do though his methods like hers were often questionable. Gregory although masterfully done to mimic many of Moriaty's mannerisms crucially gave himself away when he used the phrase 'don't kid a kidder' which is a phrase commonly used by mother. He must have picked it up when he went to see her and locked that into his subconscious. You did not tell me your plan- because Moriaty likes the idea that I must chase and you are likewise."

"You do like to boast your intelligence."

"Or merely other's short comings." Sherlock snapped in. "But I have not finished yet."

"Oh do go on..."

"Your location gave you away." Sherlock continued. "The sanitarian...the sanctuary of health possesses great sentimental value to myself in regards to the beginnings of my consorting with Doctor John Watson. This is only known to Moriaty and his associates."

"What do you mean?"

"He visited me when John was last indisposed." Sherlock said. "This I did not inform my brother of, and because of the hospital's strict policy and my interference with the CCTV cameras he could not possibly have known. My mother who sent the other agent was busy perusing Russia's greatest criminal mastermind at the time and therefore you were the logical choice."

"Indeed." The stranger said. "Well Mr Holmes this has been most informative."

"And what happens to me now?"

"For now...I recommend sleep." The stranger said.

Sherlock heard footsteps towards him. He didn't turn to face them and instead studied the stranger's face. He was a young man but his eyes were aged and carried the look of a killer. He felt a blinding pain in his head and fell to the floor. The stranger raised his eyebrows and kicked the detective slightly.

"So this is the great Sherlock Holmes?" He sneered to the large henchman.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office looking over London. He drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited for his guest who tonight was the Prime Minister of Singapore. He looked up at his clock. It was only five past ten but still it was unlike the Prime Minister to be late. He heard the door open and swivelled in his chair.

"Mummy." He said.

"Hello son." Mrs Holmes said back.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft said.

"You know better than to ask questions." Mrs Holmes said. "Do what I taught you to do- figure it out."

"Sherlock chose Moriaty's agent." Mycroft said resignedly.

"You don't sound surprised." Mrs Holmes said.

"Sherlock never did respect authority did he Mummy?" Mycroft said.

"And you never understood your gift nearly enough." Mrs Holmes said. "But that is another kettle of fish. What I want to know is where my son is."

"I don't know Mummy." Mycroft said.

"How do you not know?" Mrs Holmes said. "Did you not place a tracker on him?"

"I did mother and he found a way to get rid of it." Mycroft said. "Sherlock is smarter than he looks."

"And I think we can all thank the Lord for that." Mrs Holmes said. "By the way Mycroft why have you employed people who for a lack of a better word are stupid."

"They are the finest service men and women in Britain."

"And yet here I am." Mrs Holmes said, "I first evaded their capture and enter your office without being caught. But to more important things...did they feed Tibs?"

"Yes mother your cat has been fed." Mycroft replied.

"Well now the domestic is out of the way we can go and find Sherlock."

"But where?"

"Anywhere and everywhere." Mrs Holmes said.

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes stirred slightly. He groaned as he opened his eyes to reveal a damp looking flat. He noticed instantly that he was tied to an antique dining chair- not to dissimilar from the ones he sat on in school. As he inspected it further he noticed that it was becoming more and more familiar through every glance he took. As he turned his head he saw John Watson on the chair next to him with his head tilted downwards. He had finally made it- he had finally found John.

"John." He called out. "John!"

John remained in his seat. Sherlock leant his weight forward and moved his chair towards John. As he did so he noticed that the doctor's eyes were shut and his head was in a position which suggested unconsciousness. Sherlock noticed a trickle of dried blood stained John's forehead. He had been hit with a blunt object and from a few spots of red around it he guessed this wasn't infrequent.

Sherlock bit his lip and looked around the room. Moriaty was clever and made sure that it was both as plain and secure as possible. There were no sharp objects and there were no distinguishing features to identify his location. Sherlock knew then that he had to rely solely on himself to get them out of this place as John remained sitting there uselessly.

Sherlock looked down at the rope. It was of a standard variety. Moriaty would not have tied this as he had mentioned before that he didn't like to get his hands dirty. Sherlock suspected that it was the stranger whom had done so. When he knocked him out previously he had used his right hand suggesting that of course the man was right handed. That would mean that the knot would be on his left and from the size of his hands he would guess there would be approximately a 2cm gap in which he could begin to unpick...

- :) -

At the unit the guards sat in their office. As usual when it came to night none of them wanted to check on the inmates. Generally it was well known that this was the time in which most of the stabbings took place.

"Oi Mark, check on the psycho, will you?" The head guard said.

"Why me?" Mark asked.

"Cause you're the only one he respects." The guard next to him laughed.

"He's never even met me." Mark bleated.

"Exactly why he doesn't disrespect you." The head guard said. "Don't worry he won't bite."

"Good." Mark said bitterly.

"He made Harrison cry through." The third and final guard said.

"Harrison? He does boxing." Mark said.

"Sherlock discovered the fact that his wife was having an affair from the crease in his shirt." The third guard muttered.

"Thank you for this." Mark muttered.

"My pleasure Mark." The head guard said.

Mark walked out of the office and walked into the sociopath's room. As he looked around he noticed the absence of a certain sociopath. He looked around and lifted up the cushion in vain hope that the detective had left a note. He popped his head out the door.

"Um...guys he's not here." He shouted.

The inmates cheered and laughed. The head warden got up off his chair and walked into the corridor. The inmates turned completely silent.

"What do you mean he's not here?" He shouted. "He's on the CCTV footage."

"I think he may have inserted a CD into the system." Mark said.

"No not today, not today." The head guard said bitterly. He then turned to the second guard and said. "Sound the alarms!"

"LOCK DOWN. LOCK DOWN." The alarm shouted.

"Inform the police Jonas." The head warden told the third guard. "Sherlock Holmes has escaped!"

- :) -

The ropes fell from around Sherlock Holmes. He dusted himself off and ran towards John. He bent on his knees and examined his friend. The rope was moving slightly and a slight amount of salvia was hanging by his mouth. He was alive and for now that was all that mattered.

Sherlock moved to the back of him and began undoing the knot. It was surprisingly easy to do the same task that he had done for himself without the advantage of sight he now possessed. It appeared that from the size and position of the knots that the stranger had tied John up meaning that John had only been in that chair since Sherlock had gone back. As he began to untie it the sound of the door creaked open. Sherlock immediately let go of the rope and stood to his feet. His eyes stared at the shady figure which entered.

"Moriaty." He said quietly.

"Hello darling." Was his reply.

- :) -

Lestrade paced up and down his office with his phone pressed to his ears. The usually calm detective was frantic and gripped the phone with all his might. With every ring it made the detective's steps become louder and louder. The constables outside diverted their eyes as they feared angering him. Finally there was an answer.

"Ah inspector Lestrade." Mycroft said. "Am I to assume that this is not merely a call of merit but instead to discuss my brother's escape?"

"How did you..." Lestrade said before shaking his head and growling. "Never mind. Look Sherlock's in trouble."

"I know." Mycroft said.

"Have you found him?" Lestrade asked.

"No." Mycroft replied.

"But you have to know where he is!" Lestrade said. "You're our only hope."

"Lestrade this is Moriaty." Mycroft said. "Although vulgar neither you nor I can deny that the man is intelligent. The trail is cold and there are no witnesses. I myself am clutching at straws."

"But we can't just leave it!" Lestrade shouted. "We can't leave Sherlock Holmes to die."

- :) -

"You finally found your pet then." Moriaty said as he approached Sherlock.

"Don't call him that." Sherlock said angrily.

"So Sherlock...how've you been?" Moriaty said casually. "I heard that you had disagreements with the guards."

"I'm here now." Sherlock said back. "You can allow John to leave."

"And why would I do that?" Moriaty asked. "Did you not heed my earlier message Sherlock? If I wanted to kidnap you I would have done just that. No my dear Sherlock...I want to see you burn. The heart burned out of you."

"Let him go."

"Oh but Sherlock the fun's just started!" Moriaty said loudly before looking around and said. "Amazing isn't it how little you can buy in London these days."

"Enough..."

"You are so weak Sherlock." Moriaty said his voice becoming more and more camp by the minute. "The game has been dampened but still my dear detective you were a worthy opponent. Though Johnny boy has provided endless entertainment..."

"He's not an object." Sherlock said. "He's a person...a living person."

"But this is all a game." Moriaty replied back. "Don't you crave these murders? Anything to cure that boredom that possesses us both. The burden of a genius...the never ending questions which must be answered in order to stop us looking. Or we actually have to sit and reflect..."

"That is the only reason you did this?" Sherlock asked. "For a game."

"A game...a past time...a quest...many words to describe the same meaning. Rather fun don't you think?" Moriaty said his voice was now higher than any females that Sherlock had met. "But do you judge me for this Sherlock? The glee you show when a murder presents itself on the television because then you can be busy...but I am disappointed because now you appear to be showing emotion."

Sherlock looked at him without blinking.

"I have to say I see what you see in him." Moriaty said. "Loyal...strong...he did not cry when I pointed a gun to his head...yet still he's not one of us is he? He's brave Sherlock but he will never understand."

"Never understand what?" Sherlock said. "Your sick desire to manipulate the world for your own game?"

"Or Sherlock your own twisted desire for the misery of others to solve ones boredom?"

Sherlock Holmes stood there.

"Lost for words Sherlock?" Moriaty said. "Oh well I have to say I am missing your banter."

"Banter?" Sherlock asked.

"Colloquial term." Moriaty said. "I thought it was rather fun."

Sherlock Holmes dug into his pockets. As he felt further and further down he noticed that the gun was still there. He pulled it out and put it at Moriaty's head. The evil genius did not seem shocked and instead seemed bored. He looked at Sherlock with a smile on his face.

"I told them that it would be more fun like this." Moriaty said.

"You knew?" Sherlock said.

"Of course I knew Sherlock." Moriaty said. "It hurts me that you think I wouldn't have noticed something as common as that."

"You wanted me to point a gun to you, why?"

"You're good Sherlock." Moriaty said. "But as always I'm better."

John began to stir and both men's heads turned to face him. Sherlock looked as a red dot made its way onto John's head. Sherlock raised his hands in the air and looked at his friends. Moriaty retracted a gun out of his pocket and moved towards Sherlock. He pointed his gun towards his chest and a smile crept along his face.

"I'm going to burn the heart of you Sherlock Holmes." He said craftily moving the gun towards John's head. "And for once I am going to get my hands dirty even if this suit is Armani."

**10 chapters done and dusted...**

**Will Sherlock save Watson?**

**Will Moriaty shoot Watson?**

**Will the Armani Suit stay clean?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	11. Chapter 11: Shoot

**Shock...**

**Sherlock has found his Watson but unfortunately it comes with a side of Moriarty! Will Sherlock save the day or will John be gone forever this time?**

**Warning: Right spelling of Moriarty finally (thank you to Shaindy for pointing this out :) and I shall be replacing all of the chapters with correctly spell super villain names in due course)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock isn't mine **

John Watson's eyes opened slowly but surely. They were confused but still Sherlock felt his heart pounding that much harder. They were scared- as any human with a gun pointed to their temple would be. Moriaty gave one last look at him. It was then he acted not out of logic, not even out of intelligence but purely out of instinct.

He leaped forward and pulled Moriaty down.

"Sherlock!" John called out.

Sherlock wrestled with Moriarty on the ground. The gun still remained in his hand and Moriarty's finger remained by the trigger. Sherlock was the least elegant that John had ever seen and he saw him stumble as he fell to the floor. Moriarty kicked him and the detective recoiled. Moriarty rolled on the floor and broke free of Sherlock's grip. He looked at John with wild eyes and pointed his gun towards him...

"Enough." He said and his finger placed firmly on the trigger.

Sherlock looked up. John Watson, perhaps one of the most ordinary men in the world to look at but the only person he had ever met that he could connect with, was in danger. The man who fascinated Sherlock from the moment he met him and the only man who put up with all of his ways was facing a mortal shot. And as he contemplated that he knew there was only one thing he could do. And as Moriarty pulled the trigger Sherlock threw himself in front of it and the bullet pierced through his shirt and into his stomach.

"NO!" John shouted. "SHERLOCK?"

"Pity..." Moriaty said as he looked down at his shirt with a few blood spatters. "It was new."

Sherlock fell to the floor and clutched his stomach. The pain was excruciating and he could feel his organs giving way. He did not remove his hand for fear of what he would see. From John's panic stricken face he did not doubt that it was indeed a potentially fatal wound. Moriarty did not look with glee or even any emotion at all as he bent down and looked at him in the face.

"So this is the great Sherlock Holmes?" He asked. "The genius who solved so many mysteries, who saved so many people being so stupid. Risking his own life, a valuable life, for that of a mere doctor."

Sherlock did not answer but instead groaned in pain. He could feel his heart beat slowing and the scene around him became blurrier and blurrier. Moriarty tutted and walked away from him.

"I'm bored of you now." He said with his back turned. "Sorry boys."

And with that he walked out of the room. John with the last of his strength broke free of the ropes, causing several minor friction burns to his arms. But he didn't care. He ran over to Sherlock and bent over him with a frightened face. The detective was pale- even for his ghostly complexion and his skin was clammy.

"Why the hell did you do that?" John said as he examined his friend.

"I couldn't possibly live without my blogger." Sherlock said with a faint smile and an equally faint voice.

"But he wasn't going to kill you." John said desperately.

"John I am not afraid of death." Sherlock said weakly. "I am a great man, but not a good one. The world is lacking in that I hear."

"But..."

"John..." Sherlock whispered though his voice showed no sign of fear.. "I think I'm dying."

"No you're not." John said firmly. "You're going to keep holding on you hear me. I'm your doctor- you have to listen to me!."

"You're much more than that." Sherlock said before whispering."I love you John Watson."

And with that the detectives eyes shut and his hand became limp.

"Sherlock..." John cried before grasping his friend. "I...I..."

The detective was faint in his arms. John placed his friend down quickly and ran to the door. It was locked. There was no way out and no way to get anyone in. Moriarty was no idiot.

"Help!" John called out. "Help!"

John ran into the door with his shoulder in attempt to unhinge it but with no prevail. A tear ran down his cheek as he walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock the great detective, the often inaccessible and the strong man lay there as vulnerable as a new born baby. Crying John ripped off his shirt and placed it on the wound to staunch the bleeding. Bleeding was good- it meant he was still alive.

BANG.

A gunshot from outside. A hand pistol from the sound of it. John turned his head as the door unlocked. Bursting through it were Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs Holmes in that order. They all paused in horror for a second. Mrs Holmes was the first act and retracted a mobile phone. She dialled '999' quickly and pressed it to her ears.

"Ambulance." She said clearly.

- :) -

John Watson sat on a hospital bed with a bleak look on his face. A nurse was talking to him but not a single word registered. The last memory of watching Sherlock being rushed out on a stretcher with the paramedics attempting to resuscitate him was firmly imprinted on the doctor's mind.

Sherlock Holmes was in surgery at that present moment. Mycroft and Mrs Holmes had gone off with the surgeon and Lestrade was sitting on the chair opposite John's bed. The doctor did not flinch as the nurse injected a needle into his skin. He looked up to see an IV drip. It made no sense to him why he needed it anymore.

The nurse left a few moments later leaving John alone in the room with Lestrade. Although the man was perfectly pleasant (despite a cold first meeting) John did not feel in the mood to talk to him. He looked forward without much thought.

"Sherlock should be coming out of surgery soon." Lestrade said breaking the ice cold silence. John remained looking forward. "You can see him after. Mycroft pulled a few strings- apparently family are usually the only ones allowed to see them but as he said your closer to him than anyone else.

John didn't reply.

"He must have really cared for you to take a bullet." Lestrade said kindly.

John again didn't reply. A single tear fell out his left eye.

"I'm going to see if there is any news on the surgery." Lestrade said, and he then left.

John sat in the hospital bed and bit his lip. Sherlock Holmes, with arguably one of the best minds in Britain, was dying because of him. All of those people, those people who needed his help, would instead be left with a world with just another army doctor. Sherlock Holmes, the greatest man he had ever met, and the person that John Watson loved.

John didn't know why he fell in love with Sherlock Holmes and it was something he tried to ignore it as much as possible. And why did he do this? Because he was so sure that the sociopathic, intelligent detective would never reciprocate any type of feeling. He was amazing, the way he deducted things from the smallest detail and yet the way he disregarded stuff so prized by other humans. He was different, he was exciting...he was fun.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes sat on a chair outside the operating room. Mrs Holmes had gone to fetch them coffees despite the politician's protest. Mycroft did not doubt that the operation was serious and unlike other families he could not fool himself that everything would be fine. He was logical and knew that the likelihood that his brother would never be back- and never again would he name Mycroft his enemy or be difficult.

"Hi." A voice said breaking Mycroft's trail of thoughts.

Mycroft turned to face the person. It was detective inspector Lestrade and before even being invited he took the seat next to him. His face was worn and like Mycroft he was pale from shock.

"John's given up already." He murmured.

"Do you blame him detective?" Mycroft asked.

"Why is it that the day Sherlock Holmes becomes a good man is the day he is taken away from the world?" Lestrade said faintly.

"Because detective great men are not designed to be good." Mycroft said simply. "The only reason Moriarty did not kill Sherlock because he interested him but when he showed emotion then he had no need for Sherlock."

"But what are we going to do?" Lestrade said. "God knows that once news gets out Sherlock's hurt then murders will be happening left right and centre."

"The world will miss him I'm sure." Mycroft said. "But another will step up to the plate I am sure."

"No, no one like your brother." Lestrade said sadly.

Before Mycroft could answer a surgeon came out with a sad look on his face. The two men got off their chair and looked expectantly at him. He removed his mask and took a deep mournful breath.

- :) -

When Lestrade entered the room John Watson was in the same position in which he had left him. The detective looked uncomfortable as he moved towards the doctor. There were newly wrapped bandages around his arm and he appeared to have ripped out the IV drip out of his arm. He wasn't shaking, he wasn't moving and it was almost as if the life had been sucked out of him.

Lestrade did not talk through awkwardness and shock. He took a seat on the chair and his head fell into his hands. He let out a deep moan. John's head finally moved and he finally acknowledged the presence of the police officer. He looked down.

"How is he?" John asked.

"I'm sorry." Was Lestrade's only response.

- :) -

John Watson walked into Sherlock's room with a small tremor in his hand. Mycroft and Mrs Holmes were sitting at the corner of the room. It was obvious from the large room that Mycroft had paid for Sherlock to go private. John's eyes moved from them to Sherlock Holmes and at that moment the doctor froze.

"I think that's our cue to leave." Mrs Holmes said.

"Ok." Mycroft said back.

John didn't look as they left and instead made his way to the chair next to the detective's bed. He sat down and his eyes looked upon the sight with horror. Sherlock's dark hair remained on his head, and his face was still narrow but still he was almost unrecognizable. The arrogant bored looks on his face were washed away and finally John could see just how tired and worn out Sherlock looked. Dark circles were framing closed eyes.

The second thing which daunted John was the vast amount of machines that were surrounding him. The heart monitor was letting out a regular high bleep every few seconds. John panted and outstretched his hand to touch Sherlock's. As he felt the cold skin of Sherlock's hand he quickly retracted it. Even when unconscious Sherlock was still intimidating.

"Wake up." John whispered.

John sat by his bed for a week leaving only to shower, go to the toilet and when he was dragged by nurses to have his bandages changed. Sherlock had a lot of visitors to John's shock- everyone from Mrs Hudson to Angelo. John had been cordial to them all but found that even talking took a lot of energy which he didn't seem to have.

"John you need to go home." Mycroft said finally.

That was the thing John had been dreading for days now. He turned to face Mycroft and shook his head.

"I'm fine thank you." He replied back.

"That wasn't a request." Mycroft said. He then looked at John and said. "You have been sleeping on that same chair for a week now and from the look of you your immune system isn't working to full capacity."

"I'm fine here thank you."

"Look John..." Mycroft said. "Sherlock may never wake up. And even if he does the doctors have claimed he will not be responsive for hours."

"I'm fine."

Anthea came in with her blackberry in her hand. She gave a small sympathetic smile before saying calmly.

"Car is outside for you Doctor Watson."

"Fine!" John said storming out of the room.

- :) -

John walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street. A feeling of both fear and nerves ran through him as he entered the front door. It was just how he remembered it. He walked into the living room and memories of happier times came flooding back. He wandered as if he were dead and his eyes rested on the kitchen. Flasks and assorted scientific equipment were scattered on the surface.

The sound of the land lady ascending the stairs rang in John's ears. But he didn't move and stayed on the exact spot.

"John dear." She said.

"Hello Mrs Hudson." He said back.

"You're looking a bit peaky." She said. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"

"Mrs Hudson you're our land lady not our housekeeper." He said back. "I am more than capable than getting myself a cup of tea."

"How's he doing?" She asked.

"Same as always." He replied back. "He just lies there."

"Well he'll be ok love." She said kindly. "He always is."

"I think I need to sleep Mrs Hudson." John said.

"Of course dear." She replied back. Before she left she added. "He missed you a lot dear, you know that?"

"Oh too clearly. " John said mournfully.

**Chapter 11...dun dun done!**

**Will Sherlock be ok?**

**Will John ever forgive himself?**

**Will Mrs Hudson ever make tea again?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	12. Chapter 12: Down

**Shock...**

**Sherlock down for the count? John emotionally dying? Moriarty...bored? Oh could things get any worse?**

**Warning: Scenes of substance abuse**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and everyone else isn't mine :'(**

A week later...

John Watson walked down a dark and dirty street in the middle of the night. He was just a few roads away from Baker Street but he knew at least here Mycroft couldn't keep tabs on him. His path was certain and lit with the moonlight and flickering lampposts. He did not wear a coat despite the cold and shuddered beneath his woollen jumper. His destination was mere metres in front of him.

The cracked sign of the local off licence beckoned him. He stepped forward and looked at the shop with anguish. He knew he shouldn't be there and his conscience was shouting at him not to go in but the cravings inside him screeched for more to quench their never ending thirst. And as always the doctor was not strong enough to fight them.

He entered the shop and the sound of the bell rung. The usual woman was sitting at the counter and once again was playing on her phone. John Watson walked to his usual shelf and picked up a large bottle of Gin and a bottle of dry white wine. He lugged them over to the counter and placed them in front of the woman.

"Here again then?" She asked without looking at him.

"Yes." He replied back.

"Look mate..." She said finally lifting her head. "You've been here every day this week. Don't you think you should give it a rest?"

"No I'm fine." John said.

"Look..." She said.

"Look I know what I'm doing...I'm a doctor." He shouted before lowering his voice and asking. "How much?"

"Thirty six pounds fifty." She said, with every trace of pleasantness removed from her voice.

"Brilliant." He muttered.

John left the shop with the bag held by his side with a shaking hand. He ran to the bus stop and opened the bottle of gin. He looked at it, the devil's water, and a small faint smile made its way on his face. His hand shook as he began to pour the contents down his throat and the warm familiar tingle of satisfaction filled him but as always the first drop always lead to a second...which lead to a third...

- :) -

John Watson stumbled into 221B Baker Street thirty minutes later. He entered with a loud bang, a full scuffles and a heap of colourful language. Mrs Hudson, the ever tiring landlady, came out of her flat with a long flower nightie and a navy dressing gown. She shook her head and picked up John off the floor. She tutted as she said.

"Really John this has happened every night this week." She said. "I have a good mind to lock you out one night..."

"Comes on Mssss Huderssson...has a heaaart you know..." He slurred as he stumbled to his feet. He then gave her a lurid smile before attempting to embark up the stairs. He fell at the first step and said loudly. "Thas Bitch came out os nowehere.."

"This isn't decent dear." Mrs Hudson said kindly as she picked him up and flung his hand over her shoulder. "Come on then..."

"Is coming...Ims coming." John said.

- :) -

John fell onto the sofa ungracefully with the help of Mrs Hudson and soon entered into an alcohol induced slumber. Mrs Hudson shook her head and looked around the apartment. Empty bottles were scattered over the floor and the surfaces. The experiments which had been left by Sherlock previously were broken on the floor along with countless pieces of furniture.

Stains were everywhere and the unpleasant smell of sick and spoiled food filled the air. Mrs Hudson covered her nose with her sleeve and looked around for any remnants of food which he had left. But as she looked she found fast food laying everywhere and only a small minority of them having a bite taken out of them. Most of them stood there untouched and rotting.

"Dear God..." She muttered under her breath.

She turned her back to the doctor and walked to the landline. She picked it up and called the number that she had learnt off by heart. She pressed the phone to her ear and waited the customary two rings before he picked up.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes sat by his brother's bed with an ever vigilant eye on him. His brother had shown no signs of improvement since the night he had sent John Watson home and the doctors were beginning to lose hope.

Of course they did not tell the politician that but the way that there eye contact was short and the lack of pleasantries made it as clear as crystal. The bleeping of the heart machine was becoming a rare occurrence and his brother had been connected to a ventilator since the Tuesday. His skin was becoming near transparent...

The sound of his phone pierced the ever growing silence. He waited exactly two rings before answering it and placing it to his ear.

"Mrs Hudson." Mycroft said. "I guess this is not just a call of pleasantries."

"He's at it again Mr Holmes." Mrs Hudson's voice crackled down the phone. "He's been replacing his meals with alcohol and ruining my flat..."

"And for that you shall receive compensation." Mycroft said before asking reluctantly. "So his state has declined then?"

"If it could, it has." Mrs Hudson said. "He's just changed Mr Holmes and I'm scared if he keeps going this way he's going to kill himself...and Sherlock? How is he?"

"It appears that with every night Doctor Watson neglects to visit his state declines further." Mycroft said as he looked at Sherlock.

"He'll be ok won't he?" Mrs Hudson asked, the hope in her voice had faded since yesterday. Mycroft studied the pale complexion of his brother and the shallow movements of his chest.

"I'll pick John up at ten tomorrow morning." Mycroft said swiftly. "Make sure that he is decent."

"Of course Mr Holmes." Mrs Hudson said.

And with that the conversation was over.

- :) -

Detective Inspector Lestrade sat in the back of the large car with Mycroft the next morning. He had been called late at night and informed that he would be needed once again. His duties had taken a back seat somewhat to this case and he feared that soon his superiors would begin to notice. Luckily for him he had a team behind him who would cover for at least another week more.

"So how's Sherlock doing then?" Lestrade said breaking the silence.

"The same as ever." Mycroft said bluntly. "No better...much worse."

"And John?" Lestrade said.

"He too appears to have declined detective." Mycroft said. "It appears as one goes down so must the other."

"He'll get better." Lestrade said.

"I hope so." Mycroft said with a faint smile. "But with every day it becomes more unlikely."

"Well Sherlock will pull through." Lestrade said.

"And what makes you say that?" Mycroft asked.

And that question had but one answer- the answer of a desperate man.

"He has to."

- :) -

Mycroft reached forward and pressed the doorbell. The sound of the bustling land lady came from inside and soon enough Mrs Hudson was stood at the door. She greeted them with a vast amount of friendliness and relief before leading them to 221 B Baker Street. The smell was the first thing to hit them.

"Dear God!" Lestrade exclaimed before covering his nose with his sleeve.

"I did try to clear up." Mrs Hudson said. "But there is only so much dettol can do."

"I don't doubt you did Mrs Hudson." Mycroft said before his attention rested on John Watson who was lying on the floor with sick stained clothes and a blanket to cover the worst of the stains.

"I tried to get him up but he couldn't be moved." Mrs Hudson said. "I put a blanket on him to cover up but..."

And with that the land lady burst into tears.

"Mrs Hudson it's ok." Lestrade said before embracing the land lady with warmth. She sobbed into his chest. He then looked at her and said. "Go back downstairs and I'll bring you a cup of tea."

"Thank you dear." She sniffed before leaving.

"Dear God John what have you been doing?" Lestrade said as he bent down to examine the doctor. The cheery smile he wore and the jokes he made seemed to have been erased off his face. They were replaced by a pale complexion and dark circles around his eyes. In fact he did not look much different from the way Sherlock had been during his darker years.

"I believe the answer is exploring the bottom to every bottle which comes into his path." Mycroft said as he examined the flat. "A rather crude form of escapism really."

"I didn't even know he had a problem." Lestrade said mournfully.

"I don't think he did until recently." Mycroft said coldly. "No doubt he had a weakness towards it which was accentuated from the traumatic events."

"What can we do?" Lestrade asked as he rose to his feet.

"Get him to Sherlock." Mycroft said.

He grabbed a bottle off the floor and filled it with water from the tap. He walked over to John and threw the bottle's contents on his face. John gasped and flicked up. He looked down and pulled the blanket up. He did not speak and merely groaned in acknowledgement of their presence.

"Hello Doctor Watson." Mycroft greeted him. "Get dressed you're going to the hospital."

"Uh..." Was John's response.

"Marvellous." Mycroft said back. "You get clothed, Lestrade get Mrs Hudson her tea and we shall all meet downstairs in my car in ten minutes."

- :) -

John Watson stared at himself in the mirror. He had not looked at himself properly for days and as he examined every alcohol related scar, every new wrinkle that had formed and the paleness of his skin he suddenly knew why. The clothes he wore hung off him unusually and the weight he had lost became more painfully apparent with every second he looked.

The door opened behind him...

"The car's ready John." Lestrade said.

John turned to face him and nodded. To his surprise the detective did not lead him out but instead shut the door behind him.

"John what have you been doing to yourself?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know what you mean." Was John's response.

"John you don't have to lie to me." Lestrade said. "And in your present state you can't even attempt to."

"Then why am I?" John said. He did not give time for the detective to answer and walked out of the door without much thought. Lestrade swore under his breath before following.

- :) -

John Watson paused at the door of Sherlock's room before entering with guilt and fear laying heavily on his mind. He had dreaded coming to see him for days and this feeling had built up since the moment he knew he was going to see him. Lestrade and Mycroft lead him through the door and as he entered he noticed instantly the new addition of a ventilator on Sherlock. Mrs Holmes was sitting by him with the worried look of a mother.

She turned to them and said.

"May I be left alone with Doctor Watson?"

"Of course." Lestrade said.

"Mother..." Mycroft protested.

"It is not a request." Mrs Holmes said.

Mycroft did not bother to speak and the two men exited the room. John did not move and stood in the same place in which he had entered. Mrs Holmes got up and walked over to him. She gave a small smile and said.

"You look unwell."

"Is that a Holmes trait to be forever blunt?" John asked.

"One of our most valued I believe." Mrs Holmes said. "You have not been here in a while."

"I've been busy." John said.

"So I hear." Mrs Holmes said. "But I think a new desire to fuel an alcohol addiction is not a sufficient reason to neglect your duty of visitation which is usually expected for a person who has sacrificed themselves so that you have lived."

"I was told to go home." John said bluntly. "So I did."

"Are you always so insolent Doctor Watson?" She asked.

"Only when required." He said back.

"Although I find you vastly unpleasant and of an insufficient intellectual capability to be called engaging."

"Thank you..."

"My pleasure." Mrs Holmes said. "As I was saying, although I would never personally chose you as an adequate partner for any of my family, distant and direct, it appears that my son has taken a shine to you."

"No he hasn't." John said. "As you said, I'm too stupid."

"Don't kid a kidder." Mrs Holmes said. "And I believe from your reaction that you too have formed this attachment."

"I'm not..."

"Homosexual?" Mrs Holmes said. "Who do you think you are fooling when you say that?"

"You don't even know me." John snapped. "You barely know your son. I have known Sherlock for nearly a year and he has never even mentioned you."

"That is because like you Doctor Watson he is insolent." Mrs Holmes said. "He did not approve of the control that our family insisted upon. And if you are to be his partner...I am going to help you."

"I don't need help." John said. "Now if you excuse me..."

He needed to break free. Everyone was staring, everyone was expecting and everyone was blaming him. He could feel his insides screaming and his heart pounding...he needed to get out now.

And with that he stormed out of the room, past Lestrade, past Mycroft and into the open. He took one look at the hospital and a tear fell out of his eye. He disappeared into the crowd and into the unknown.

**Chapter 12...has gone **

**Will John ever accept his problems?**

**Will Sherlock ever come back?**

**Will Mrs Holmes ever make a good first impression?**

**Find out next week.**


	13. Chapter 13: Secrets

**Shock...**

**John's drinking...Sherlock can't breathe by himself and now John's decided to gone on a disappearing act. Can anybody save the two flatmates now?**

**Warning: John's at the devil juice again.**

**Disclaimer: I know it's surprising but since last time Sherlock, John and the rest of them haven't become mine!**

A WEEK LATER...

Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into an off-licence in Brixton. He kept his head down as he walked past the rabble of teenagers which were congregated in the corner of the shop. It was clear to the detective that the boys were clearly underage but for now it was not his battle to fight. He walked up to the counter and placed a picture on it.

"Have you seen this man?" He asked clearly.

The attendant in which Lestrade questioned was a thirty something year old woman who was not unattractive. She smelt faintly of cigarette smoke and honey. She nodded her head before saying in a husky voice.

"Yeah he came by here a few days ago." She then paused before continuing. "Look...I don't want to bring you down but he didn't look good mate."

"He was intoxicated wasn't he?" Lestrade said.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" She said with a smile. "Well let's just say if he wasn't 'intoxicated' then I'd be worried for him."

"Thank you for your help." Lestrade said and he turned to go.

"Look I know it's none my business but I think you're wasting your time mate. He didn't look like he wanted to be helped."

Lestrade didn't reply to this and walked out of the shop. He moved quickly towards the expensive Jaguar which was parked on the corner. He let himself in and was soon greeted with the ever bored Anthea sitting in the back seat texting on her blackberry. She prised herself off it for a moment to ask.

"So had they seen him?"

"Yeah but it was a few days ago." Lestrade muttered. "The trail's basically cold."

"Hm..." Anthea muttered. "Well Mycroft called earlier to say there is another ten ones in an eight mile radius."

"Fantastic." Lestrade replied.

- :) -

Mycroft sat in the corner of his brother's room with a laptop on his lap. He was searching around the area for anywhere and everywhere John Watson would be. His brother lay there oblivious on his bed. Mycroft slammed his laptop lid down and paced towards Sherlock.

He wasn't getting better. The doctor's were no longer being subtle and they were even talking about further surgery. It made no sense to the logical man but the further they were apart the worse they got and John Watson showed no sign of turning up. His mother had made sure of that.

Mycroft ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the chair next to him. He looked up at the ceiling and took a few deep breaths. A doctor entered the room.

"Oh Mr Holmes..." She said. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Well call it a pleasant surprise." Mycroft said.

"Look I needed to talk to someone anyway." She said and a small smile beamed across her chipmunk features. "It's good news."

"Good news?" Mycroft said with an eyebrow raise. "I was told such a thing was almost impossible."

"I know but your brother is being such a fighter." She said. "Truly his improvement is extraordinary, way above what I've seen before since practising."

"Well he always did like to go against prior predictions." Mycroft said. "And what does this improvement mean exactly?"

"Well it's early days yet but I suspect he may make a full recovery." She said with a smile.

- :) -

Lestrade got back into the car after yet another off-licence. They too had seen John and claimed like the last one that he was in no fit state. However this provided no clues or evidence to where John was as it seemed no correlation or relationships to where he had gone. It appeared that he had just stopped off wherever he was without much direction or thought.

"Another one?" Anthea said with an eyebrow raise.

"Wherever he's been he's had cash on him." Lestrade said. "God knows where he's got it."

"Ok." Anthea said with a smirk.

"So, any news from Mycroft?" Lestrade asked.

"No." She said back.

"Ok well we better get to the next one then." Lestrade said reluctantly.

And with that the driver started and they embarked down another busy street of London.

- :) -

Mycroft dozed gently in the chair next to Sherlock. The clock was ticking just beyond eight o clock and the room was getting progressively darker. The detective laid there peacefully as he ever did and nurses filed in and out occasionally.

And then it happened...

Sherlock Holmes began to choke. The sound was feeble at first though it grew progressively louder and louder. His eyes opened and a look of pain and panic filled Sherlock's eyes. His body flinched upwards and he had a semi-upright position. Mycroft's eyes fluttered open quickly and he bolted up in his chair. A nurse ran in quickly and pulled the ventilator out of his mouth. Sherlock's eyes rolled and he fell back into his bed. Mycroft remained looking straight at his brother.

"Don't worry." The nurse said. "That's a good sign. It means that he no longer needs to rely on the ventilator to breathe. He's doing it all on his own."

"Brilliant." Mycroft said as he looked down at Sherlock. His chest was moving shallowly up and down in definite movements.

"Won't be long till he's back up and running." The nurse commented.

"Thank you." Mycroft said.

The nurse left soon after and Mycroft looked at his brother. He knew knowing his brother that he would be up soon and he also knew that if his brother woke up before John was found then he would go looking for the doctor. Mycroft was in no denial that no matter what he did Sherlock would go and in the state he was in it would not be long before he would be back in that bed- possibly in a worse state than he was in before.

He picked up his phone and dialled the number of a Detective Inspector Lestrade. It rung a few times before the detective picked up.

"Ah detective." Mycroft addressed him. "Any news on the wandering doctor?"

"It appears he's been on a tour of the local off-licenses." Lestrade said back. "It seems a rarity to find somewhere he hasn't been."

"And anything of note?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes in fact there was something strange." Lestrade said. "He was seen with a woman in the last two off licenses."

"A woman?" Mycroft said.

"Yes, five foot six woman apparently with mousey hair as well." Lestrade continued. "According to the shop assistant they were both completely out of it."

"I suspected that she may be involved." Mycroft said.

"Who exactly?" Lestrade asked.

"Detective are you aware that Doctor Watson has a sister?"

"And what's that got to do with it?"

"Are you also aware that she is an alcoholic?"

"She's the woman!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"Exactly." Mycroft said. "Now detective go back to your house and instruct Anthea to do likewise. I shall call you in the morning with my result."

"Look Mycroft..." Lestrade said. "My team's been covering me pretty well but I got to go in tomorrow."

"I understand detective." Mycroft said. "Can you send me a suitable replacement?"

There was a small silence before Lestrade said.

"I know just the man."

- :) -

"Anderson I've got a case for you." Lestrade said as he entered the station.

Anderson, sporting a rather new fetching beard, walked towards Lestrade with a reluctant scowl upon his face. The others in the room looked around and had smug looks on their face. They knew more than anyone that Lestrade was no fan of Anderson so the case was likely to be boring, tedious and would annoy Anderson no end.

"And what would that be Inspector?" Anderson asked.

"You have been assigned in the investigation into the disappearance of Doctor John Watson." Lestrade said as he handed the file to him. Anderson gritted his teeth and couldn't help but retort.

"Alleged disappearance." Anderson snapped.

"Do you see him here?" Lestrade said looking around the room. There were stifled giggles from the background and Anderson's face soured further.

"Well no..." He admitted quietly. The giggles became louder and louder to the point that it seemed that they were not even trying to cover it up.

"Have you seen him recently?" Lestrade asked louder.

"Well no..." Anderson said, his face turning pink. The laughs were so loud that Lestrade had to look at them to silence the sound before saying.

"Then he's disappeared." He then paused before adding. "Anthea will pick you up in ten."

"But Sir I'm on forensics." Anderson protested. "So technically this is not my area of expertise."

"And technically Anderson I don't give a rat's arse." Lestrade said.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes paced by his brother's bed. There had been talk about the doctor's taking him off the sedatives and today seemed to be the day. Doctors, literally half a dozen, were stood around Sherlock with charts and several medical devices. They all turned away from Sherlock and faced his brother. Mycroft stood still on the spot.

"Well Mr Holmes..." The most senior of the doctors said. "If we have your consent I think we can wake up your brother this afternoon."

"Well isn't that brilliant." Mycroft said back.

"I know it's a scary prospect..." The doctor said. "The idea that maybe your brother may have changed since the accident but the chance of brain damage is minimal."

"Thank you doctor." Mycroft said. And with that the senior doctor and his colleagues left. Mycroft bit his lip and called that familiar number. After three rings (a ring more than considered polite by the politician the phone was picked up).

"Hello?" An ignorant voice said.

"My suspicions have been right it appears." Mycroft said. "Am I speaking to the famous Anderson?"

"Yes." Anderson replied back.

"Well hello Mr Anderson it is a pleasure to finally speak directly to you." Mycroft said. "Has today been fruitful?"

"No." Anderson said.

"Well that is rather disappointing." Mycroft said. "But hoorah your day shall not be in vain Mr Anderson."

"And why would that be?" Anderson asked rudely.

"Well I have received news from a source..." Mycroft said.

"What kind of source?" Anderson interrupted.

"Are you always so petulant?" Mycroft asked- silence was the only way in which Anderson responded to it. "Well Mr Anderson I shall send an email to my assistant in which an address of a local squat."

"A local squat?" Anderson said.

"I am glad that your hearing is good Mr Anderson but time for such boastings is not now." Mycroft responded back. "It is where Doctor Watson's sister was last seen."

"Brilliant." Anderson said back.

"Well goodbye Mr Anderson." Mycroft said. "I would say it was a pleasure to talk to you but I have been told since childhood that it is rude to lie."

- :) -

Anderson's nose flared as walked towards the gutted out house. There was graffiti over the outside and it was next to a block of council flats. There was a group of hooded teenagers on their bikes on the other side of the road which were sneering at the shaking man. He looked down and walked towards the flat.

The first impression of the place appeared to be completely accurate as Anderson entered the house, as the lock had been busted. As he walked in he noticed many people were passed out on the floor- or at least he hoped they were passed out. He crossed his arms and stepped over them one by one before he entered the main room.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight which was before him. John Watson, the once cheery doctor, was lying over the floor with a pale unshaven face and surrounded by his own vomit. He was thin- a lot thinner than he was before and his head was tilted to one side. Others of varying states of consciousness surrounded him but none of them were going to his aid.

"John?" Anderson called out as he walked towards the doctor. "John?"

The man did not respond and instead remained in the same position. Anderson weaved past the other people and bent on his knees to examine John. As he did so he felt a sharp object against his neck.

"Hands up." A female voice said behind him.

Anderson obliged and raised his two hands to face level. He looked around to see a mousey haired woman of around thirty standing with a knife in her hand. She had a dangerous look about her and like John she appeared too had not eaten for days.

"Get up." She ordered.

Anderson wasn't going to ignore this direct order from her and got up to his feet. He looked down at John who lay there on the floor completely unaware of what was happening.

"Don't look at him." She said.

Anderson looked straight at her.

"Who are you?" She asked bluntly. "Why are you here?"

"I'm Anderson from the metropolitan police service." He said clearly. "I was sent by my superior to find and bring back John Watson."

"And why do they want him back?" She hissed.

"Don't ask me I'm just following orders." He said.

"Well officer I suggest you take my orders now." She said, the knife still mere millimetres away from his neck.

"Yes maam." Anderson said his heart throbbing.

"You did not see anything." She said clearly. "John Watson was not here, no one here has seen nor heard of him and you have no other ideas to where he might be."

"Yes." Anderson said his eyes focused only upon the knife.

She lowered the knife and began to walk towards her brother. Anderson backed away slowly and towards the exit. She bent down next to her brother and wiped the vomit off his face. Anderson did not take his eyes off her.

"And Anderson from the metropolitan police service..." She said causing him to stiffen immediately even though the weapon was now on the floor. "If you do tell anyone I will make sure that is the last thing you ever say."

Anderson shook.

"Now go!" She shouted.

Anderson didn't need telling twice and stumbled over his feet before running out the door. He did not look back and skidded out of the door. He slammed the door shut and pressed himself against it. His eyes were wide and his heart beat quickened. He gave himself but one moment to compose himself before walking towards the Jaguar on the corner. He entered the vehicle as normal.

"Anything?" Anthea asked.

"Waste of bloody time." Anderson replied back.

- :) -

"Anthea, did you find anything?" Mycroft asked down the phone.

"No sir nothing at all." She replied back.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked.

"Positive." Anthea said quickly. "In fact the new guy seemed to think that it was a wasted trip."

"I expected nothing less of such a man." Mycroft said and with a sigh continued. "So there is no chance of finding John before this afternoon then?"

"I wouldn't count on it." Anthea replied.

- :) -

John Watson came around on the floor of the squat. He looked around with a headache plagued view and attempted to get up. His arms gave way and he fell to the floor. A woman came up to him and propped him up. He looked up to see his sister with a glass of water in her spare hand. She handed it to him and gave a warm comforting smile.

"Drink up." She said.

"Thanks." John murmured back.

"John I have news." She said.

"News?" John asked his eyes suddenly brightening. "Is it Sherlock? Is he ok?"

"I'm sorry John." She said back.

"Sorry?" He asked. "Why sorry? Sorry is never good."

"John he's dead." She said.

"No." John said stumbling to his feet. "No he can't be."

"John sit down you're not looking too well." She said calmly.

"But he was fine." John muttered. "He was bad but he was fine."

"John he got shot..." Harry continued.

"But he's..." John then stumbled to the floor and sat against the wall. He then muttered. "It's all my fault."

"No." Harry said. "No none of this is your fault."

John remained sitting with a single tear falling out of his eye. He didn't move except the trembles from his fear. Harry got up and collected a bottle of vodka from the side. She then handed it to him and said kindly.

"Have a drink."

John grabbed the bottle without looking and necked it down without much thought for soon he knew that he would not have a care in the world once more.

**13 done, dusted and off the press**

**Will Sherlock wake up?**

**Will John ever escape the cycle?**

**Will Anderson ever become palatable?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME.**


	14. Chapter 14: Awakening

**Shock...**

**So John thinks Sherlock is dead when actually he's closer to life than he has been in a while. Anderson found John but Anderson won't say he has because he's been threatened and for some reason they believed him...Oh deary me everyone is in a bit of a sticky wicket.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock despite my prayers and dreams is NOT mine!**

Lestrade stood by Mycroft that afternoon. They both were located behind a sea of doctors which were surrounding Sherlock Holmes in preparation for his awakening. There was a notable absence of Mrs Holmes which Mycroft appeared to be ignoring. They put an air mask on Sherlock and turned to face Mycroft. Being the next of kin for Sherlock he was the one to give permission for everything to go ahead. He nodded mechanically.

The doctor nodded back and inserted the syringe worth of the stimulant into catheter placed in Sherlock's hand. The doctors backed away and allowed Mycroft to stand loyally and faithfully next to his brother. Lestrade stood in the same position and watched on. The most senior of the doctors leant towards Mycroft and said.

"It'll take a few minutes."

"And how long till we can tell how much damage has been done?" Mycroft asked.

"It shall present itself when it does." Was his only response.

Lestrade took a seat on the sofa behind and interlocked his hands together. He looked down and tapped them nervously against his knee. There were a few minutes of eager silence, and then a few minutes more.

"That's unusual." The doctor said. He then looked down at his chart and said. "Mr Holmes has your brother ever been an intravenous drug user?"

"I think it would be fair to say that he has dabbled in such activities." Mycroft replied back. "And why is that of relevance?"

"I think your brother is more immune to such drugs as our stimulants." The doctor said. "It may mean that his journey back to consciousness is longer and more hazardous than maybe first expected."

"Bloody typical." Lestrade muttered under his breath.

- :) -

Anderson sat at his desk with a cup of coffee. After finding nothing all morning Lestrade had shouted at him before reluctantly telling him to get back to the station. He didn't look anyone in the eye and had not spoken to even sergeant Donavan since he had got back. What he had done laid heavily on his mind as images of Doctor John Watson plagued his mind.

The man was not well- that would have been clear to even the most primal of people. He was thin, pale, clammy and it looked as if he had not showered in days. Despite a frosty nature towards Sherlock Holmes he held no such grudge against John Watson. But he knew that he could not tell, for even if Harry was caught there would be many more who would be willing to kill him and he was too cowardly to take the risk.

But it would get out one way or another and he would be revealed soon enough. And when that day came he would be likely to lose his jobs, his friends and any respect that he had manage to earn (and to be honest what he had was dwindling).

- :) -

Mycroft sat in the chair twenty minutes after the drug had first been administered. Sherlock remained lying down and the doctors were beginning to talk quietly amongst themselves. Lestrade had not moved except his head had lowered significantly.

And then it happened. The flicker of the detective's eyes made all of the people in the room lean forward. He blinked a few more times before attempting to heave himself up. As he did so he fell back into his bed and his eyes widened.

"Where's John?" He gasped.

"Hello Mr Holmes it's a pleasure to meet you." The senior doctor said. "My name is Doctor Kingsberry and I have been looking after you whilst you have been in a drug induced coma due to a gun wound you received some weeks ago."

"Whilst all of this is very informative..." Sherlock said. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Jefferson can you note down the inability to conceal the truth..." Doctor Kingsberry said.

"No." Mycroft said quickly before adding. "He's always like that."

"He is also in the room." Sherlock said wearily. "And by the resistance to answer this am I to assume that Doctor Watson isn't present?"

"May we be left alone please?" Mycroft asked.

"Of course." Doctor Kingsberry said and with that the doctors left.

Sherlock remained silent and looked forward. People were asked to leave the room- humans only did this for one reason- to reveal bad news which was not suitable for general viewing. Lestrade finally got up and sat down on the other chair next to him.

"Sherlock I'm sorry." Lestrade said, being the first to break the silence.

"Do not waste your or my time with needless sympathy." Sherlock muttered. "Both you and I know that I do not respond to that."

"Sherlock, John isn't here." Lestrade said.

"And that I can see." Sherlock croaked. "What I cannot see is why."

"Sherlock Doctor Watson is missing." Mycroft said bluntly. "We have sent men to search after him but alas there has been no prevail."

"That is because you have not had me." Sherlock said. "Now if we can start with..."

"Sherlock you are banned from taking on the case." Lestrade said quickly.

"You know as well as I do that shall not stop me." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock you've just come out of a drug induced coma." Lestrade said.

"And I've never felt chirpier." Sherlock said. "Now where was he last seen?"

Mycroft, having taking a back seat in the conversation suddenly leant forward. He trembled slightly as the next words fell out of his mouth with perfect pronunciation.

"Sherlock I am your next of kin..."

"Something which I did not consent to." Sherlock pointed out.

"Sherlock that's enough." Mycroft hissed. "I am here to protect you. Like you I have also grown fond of John Watson, though maybe not to the same extent but I am not willing to allow you to sacrifice your life for that man."

"It's my choice." Sherlock said.

"No Sherlock, for now you are sick and it is mine." Mycroft said. "I will not allow you to die."

"And what is to stop me getting up and walking out?"

"Your body Sherlock." Mycroft said. "Your transport, your second best item is impeding you as we speak. You are not well Sherlock and you must recover."

"I was willing to die once for this man." "What logical reason would stop me again?"

"Me." Mycroft said.

And with that he left the room. Lestrade sat their awkwardly as Sherlock attempted to get himself out of bed. He got up staggeringly.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade said warningly, but was silenced by a glare from Sherlock.

Sherlock lifted his weight of and took a step out of the bed. He lifted his foot up before crumpling on the ground. He had never felt so guilty. Lestrade bent down and lent him a hand. Sherlock did not take it and instead remained on the floor. He tried to push himself up but had no prevail.

"Sherlock I'm sorry." Lestrade said. He lifted Sherlock up despite his protests and lifted him to the bed.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes walked towards Doctor Kingsberry with a slight air of determination. His brain told him that the decision was logical but emotion told him otherwise. It was controversial, it was rude and deviant but to control a man such as Sherlock Holmes it was the only option.

"Hello Doctor." He said.

"Hello Mr Holmes." Doctor Kingsberry said. "How is your brother?"

"A bit of muscle wastage I believe but good for his condition." Mycroft said, almost conversationally before adding. "But there is something I think you must know."

"And what is that?" Doctor Kingsberry asked.

"Doctor Kingsberry I want you first to know that my brother is a great man." Mycroft said.

"Ok Mr Holmes." Doctor Kingsberry said.

"But he is dangerous." Mycroft said. "To both himself and others."

"I'm not sure what you mean Mr Holmes." Doctor Kingsberry said.

"My brother was recently convicted of a double homicide due to his rather volatile mental state. And got injured whilst escaped from his unit." Mycroft said.

"You know Mr Holmes that by telling me this, that I am obligated to report this to the police." Doctor Kingsberry said.

"Yes I did know." Mycroft said before adding. "In fact I was counting on it."

"You want your brother to be arrested?" Doctor Kingsberry asked.

"I am a moral man Doctor Kingsberry..." Mycroft said. "I cannot justify the lives of all of your patients for my brother's freedom."

- :) -

Sherlock lay on the bed with a weak head. His mind had never been so cloudy and yet his curiosity fired through him with speed. He glared at the detective inspector who had given him pity and helped him. It hurt to not be the one in control and not only was he like that- John's life was on the line because of it.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade muttered.

"Don't speak." Was Sherlock's mere response.

Lestrade got up and looked towards the door. Sherlock's eyes traced his eye line immediately. Three men in police uniform were walking down the corridor. His eyes became wider yet he did not feel surprised.

"What the hell are they doing here?" Lestrade said.

"I believe they are after me." Sherlock said.

"We got to get you out of here!" Lestrade said.

"And how exactly would you propose to do so?" Sherlock asked.

"The window?" Lestrade said.

"Is too high, would kill us both instantly especially a man in my condition." Sherlock said dully.

"And the door?" Lestrade asked.

"Straight in front of the police officers?" Sherlock said. "That would not look good on your part."

And before Lestrade could respond the three police officers walked in. Detective Inspector Lestrade froze as he realized the implications which would come of this. Sherlock sat up slightly in his bed and looked at them. For a moment all was still and silent. It was broken by Sherlock saying utterly convincingly.

"So you brought back up then?"

Lestrade froze for a moment and looked at him. It was not possible. The highly functioning sociopath, and cold detective was covering for him. He looked at the man and stepped into action quicker than he had ever done so before.

"No Mr Holmes just a pleasant surprise." Lestrade said.

"A rather ironic use of the word in my case." Sherlock said.

"Detective Inspector." The chubbiest of the police officers addressed Lestrade.

"Ahh Harrison, how's the wife doing?" Lestrade said.

"Dead sir." Harrison replied.

An awkward silence filled the room. Sherlock thankfully was again to break the silence.

"And what is to await me?" Sherlock said. "Will Harrison beat me with his dodgy leg?"

"What are you talking about Holmes?" Harrison said.

"Well the fact that your tendon on your left leg is shorter than your right is not normally considered advantageous." Sherlock said. "But who am I to judge?"

"What do you want to do with him sir?" Harrison asked. "Move him back to the unit?"

"No, he can escape from there." Lestrade said. "I want him here, guarded twenty four hours a day seven days a week."

"Should I handcuff him to the bed?" Harrison asked eagerly.

"I object to that." Sherlock said quickly.

"Yes I believe we should Harrison." Lestrade said. He then walked towards the door and said lastly. "I shall be back in ten minutes. Make sure that he is kept here and guarded with your lives."

"Very good sir." Harrison replied back.

- :) -

Lestrade stormed up to Mycroft Holmes in an empty corridor and pinned him to the wall. Although normally the two could be regarded as friends (or as friendly someone could be to a member of the Holmes family), the detective inspector looked upon Mycroft in disgust. The politician did not struggle, did not quiver and did not make any attempts to move. He just looked straight at Lestrade with unblinking eyes.

"How the hell could you do that?" Lestrade growled.

"I did what I needed to do." Mycroft replied back.

"What? Get him arrested again?" Lestrade said.

"He was going to escape." Mycroft said.

"He needs to find John Watson." Lestrade said. "If he doesn't he will continue to deteriorate."

"No detective he would deteriorate when he went to look for an alcoholic doctor who is continually relapsing." Mycroft said calmly. "I am saving him from himself."

"No you're controlling him!" Lestrade hissed. "Like you manipulate everything. I could have got into serious trouble...weirdly detective inspectors are not supposed to associate themselves with wanted criminals."

"Why did you do so then?" Mycroft asked.

"Because he is innocent." Lestrade said. "A fact which both you and I are aware of."

"But we are the only ones who shall believe so." Mycroft said.

"You know what..." Lestrade said as he let go. "Sherlock's right...you have gained a bit of weight."

The politician held his stomach as the detective inspector stormed off. His eyes were cold but his face suddenly felt warm. He felt a certain ping...something which he had not felt for a while. It was an emotion both crippling and useless...it was guilt.

**Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun...do do do do do do dooo...do do do dooo...do do do do do doo (Eastenders theme tune)**

**Will Sherlock escape?**

**Will Lestrade forgive Mycroft?**

**Will Mycroft ever lose his holiday weight?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME!**


	15. Chapter 15: Action

**Shock...**

**Firstly**** I**** am Very sorry for being so late with the update. I blame inverse functions and English texts for distracting me!**

**So where were we? Oh yes siblings are screwing over the intrepid pair and prising them further and further away from each other. Wow...can it get any jollier?**

**Warning: Mycroft gets busy!**

**Disclaimer: Why can't I own Sherlock :'(?**

Sherlock Holmes sat in his bed, handcuffed to the back of it. He sat on the bed and looked out of the window. According to the doctors his condition was stable but they needed to test him more for medical inflictions. He suspected that the Doctor, who had become rather cooler to Mycroft, felt pity on him. He felt like an animal caged both mentally and physically by the sedatives and chains which held him in place. He turned his head coldly as the door opened and his brother entered.

"Come for the show?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"I did this to protect you." Mycroft said back. He did not attempt to sit, and did not attempt to come any closer through fear of Sherlock's backlash. Sherlock didn't seem to mind this.

"Well done Mycroft I'm caged." Sherlock said back.

"I know you do not like this." Mycroft said.

"And what man would like this?" Sherlock asked. His eyes scrolled around the room as he said. "To be kept safe when the case remains unsolved."

"John Watson is a dangerous man Sherlock." Mycroft said. "He is an alcoholic, he is stealing and trespassing..."

"And I would know nothing of drug addiction and breaking the law?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft didn't reply. Sherlock looked forward and said coldly. "Go I'm bored of you."

"Sherlock..." Mycroft said.

"You speak six languages Mycroft and still you do not understand a simple command in English." Sherlock said. "Rather wasteful don't you think?"

"Goodbye." Mycroft said.

Sherlock watched his brother exit with no remorse over the sad look on the politician's face. He had deserved every single thing that Sherlock had said and more. This was because he had taken away the last chance to find John Watson and prove Sherlock's innocence. If anything he had done the opposite

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office and looked over London. His face was emotionless but inside he could feel the useless emotion of guilt swarming through every extremity. The door slammed behind him but he did not look. He did not need to.

"Mycroft." Mrs Holmes addressed him.

"I thought you had gone." Mycroft said.

"You know I don't ever wander far." She said.

"Then why weren't you there when Sherlock woke up?" Mycroft asked.

"Because he neither wanted nor needed me there." She said plainly. "He is like a wild animal Mycroft, you may train him to pretend otherwise but truly he belongs with his own kind."

"What so let him out to be fed by the wolves?" Mycroft asked.

"A wild creature cannot show it's true potential unless released free." She said.

"And what am I to do?" Mycroft said.

"You know what to do." Mrs Holmes said. "Do what I taught you to do."

"I'm out of practise mummy." Mycroft said back. "How am I to catch Moriarty?"

"You are brilliant my son." Mrs Holmes said with a faint smile. "You just need to use it."

Mycroft Holmes opened the draw of his desk and collected his gun. He held it in his hand and inspected it. He put it into his pocket and patted it gently. He turned to face the London landscape. His eyes moved quickly as they scanned the outside of his window as a sense of impending doom swept over him. He turned back, and as he expected his mother was gone.

- :) -

Sherlock sat on his bed and looked up at the wall. The sedatives though powerful were not effective in slowing down the great Sherlock Holmes's mind. It had been two days now since Mycroft's last visit, and he had two unsuccessful (though close) attempts of breaking free. The second of those attempts had resulted in his legs giving way and him spilling over the floor. They were doing tests about that as he sat there waiting for the results.

They were stalling...as if to keep him here for as long as possible and if his deductions were correct then he knew why.

Lestrade entered the room quickly and abruptly. He was short of breath, his buttons were in the wrong button holes and he had completely forgotten about a tie or jacket. It was so disorganized that surely he had to bring big news. And as usual Lestrade was predictable.

"What the hell have you done Sherlock?" Lestrade shouted.

"I fail to see how I could possibly do anything in this state." Sherlock replied back.

"Mycroft..." Lestrade said, flinging a newspaper article just in front of Sherlock. "He went missing the day after you got arrested."

"And therefore I am a prime suspect." Sherlock said. "The only problem with your theory is the fact that I have been under lock and key, with constant supervision for the past two days."

"Where is he then?" Lestrade said.

"A mission, a diplomatic event, maybe he's gone to the fat camp finally." Sherlock said non-chalantly.

"A woman called Anthea reported him missing." Mycroft said. "She said that would mean something to you."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He turned to Lestrade as his mind calculated everything. Mycroft trusted Anthea in a way in which he had never trusted Sherlock. For her to not know where he was, or for her to agree to call the police he had to be up to something big. He looked at Lestrade and said.

"Bring her to me and I'll find out everything you need to know."

"Sherlock I can't do that!" Lestrade said. "Being with a criminal is risky enough but to actually allow you to question witnesses- that would be career suicide."

"Fine." Sherlock said. "Disagree with my methods and I shall not help you."

"And what makes you say that I need help?" Lestrade asked.

"Buttons done up incorrectly, no suit jacket and you came to me despite this being a possible career threat." Sherlock said. "I think that I'm the last thing you've got."

"I'll see what I can do." Lestrade said. Sherlock nodded and the man stormed out.

- :) -

Mycroft Holmes wore a leather jacket and worn jeans. He looked at himself in the mirror. If his own mother could see him, then she would have told him that he looked both ridiculous and further away from his usual appearance than he had done since he was sixteen. He had readily shaved his head and adorned himself with a pair of aviator sunglasses. He wore a star helmet and walked over to his new motorbike. It was a new one with several gears and looked like it was the most powerful of the motorbikes in the shop.

And what had lead him to going on a potentially life threatening machine? Well if he was honest he was asking himself the same thing.

"Be careful." The shop keeper growled to him as he mounted it.

"Don't know the meaning of the word." Mycroft said back before heading off.

He rode down the road with speed. He was following a lead from a rather unreliable source, but then again it was the only lead to Moriarty he could find. The man had apparently moved on from Sherlock, and towards a new mass murderer in the North of the country. He did not have time to warn his team as he knew that soon enough the trail would go cold if it was public that he was searching for him.

The location was unknown to him but from hearsay from the local drug dealers in the area (whom he had met and bribed with the drugs he had stolen from Sherlock's flat) there had been a new man who had began to squat in the area. Moriarty, although a man of style, did not want to stay in the business end of town because if the source was correct, then the man whom he hunted was a working class man with a history of consorting with prostitutes. Despite all of this evidence Mycroft was still certain he was clutching at straws.

- :) -

Anthea looked at herself in the mirror. Hair swept back, wiped off make up and in a pair of green scrubs and worst of all for the young girl she was also forced to take out her contact lenses. She could hardly recognize herself and she had to admit she was glad of that. She turned to Lestrade and raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. She did not even have to say her disapproval as it was clear from the expression on her face.

"I know this isn't ideal." Lestrade said. A small smirk made its way onto Anthea's face.

"That is putting it lightly." Anthea said.

"But this is the only way we can find him." Lestrade continued.

"If Sherlock knows where Mycroft is." Anthea said.

"I know Sherlock isn't the most reliable of people but he's the best detective for the job." Lestrade said.

"You do know that Mycroft is more intelligent than his brother." Anthea said. "He just lacks the curiosity which drives Sherlock to do such extreme things to prove his intelligence. Sherlock is rather childlike if you think about it. He acts for the thrill of the chase and not for the benefit of other people. His guilt and feelings do not affect his judgment bar one case- and that is the same very one which had lead to this."

Lestrade looked down and mumbled.

"I didn't think you were much of talker."

"Take away a girl's blackberry and she has to do something." She replied back. Lestrade looked up to her and gave a small smile.

"Well let's go and see him then." Lestrade said to her.

- :) -

"Sherlock are you listening to me?" The doctor asked.

Sherlock looked up at the female doctor. She was young, and from the dark circles under her eyes she had recently changed her shifts in the hospital. Maybe it was because of a new change in home circumstances but most likely because she had recently moved. She was thin and from the clothes she wore she had recently lost weight of a large proportion. Sherlock's first impression was that maybe she had left her boyfriend or even that he had left her.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"Mr Holmes I know that the word paralysis is scary." She said.

"A word cannot be 'scary'." Sherlock said. "It can be associated with fear..."

"Mr Holmes I'd like you to remember it is only temporary." She said,

"And how temporary is temporary exactly?" Sherlock asked.

"We don't know." She admitted. "It could be a few weeks or it could be months, maybe even years."

"And why exactly has this happened?" Sherlock said.

"We don't know." She said. "We're running tests..."

"Have you checked for toxins?" He said.

"There is no reason to suspect poising." She said. "You've been in hospital for a long time and we've been careful to monitor what has gone into and out of you."

"You do know that I am not a popular man." Sherlock said. "From the way you avoid eye contact with me, I can tell that you fear me. It would be a logical assumption that you aren't the only one to fear me and as we all know the human body is designed to either run or to stand up to such a thing. And what better way to fight than to watch your opponent die slowly?"

She didn't speak for a minute but instead attempted to look at him. As she attempted once, and then attempted again she realized how difficult it was to lock eye contact with the man. She had to admit that to look into those hawk like eyes for a moment longer than necessary was something that she could not do.

"I'll run the tests." Was the only thing she could say to that. Sherlock remained silent and she left moments later with her legs shaking.

- :) -

Mycroft walked into the squat with his head held high. He did not inhale the smell through his nose and instead took a deep breath through his mouth. Even in disguise he held himself in such a way that everyone in the building turned to look at him. He did not pay any attention and lit up a single cigarette. This soon diffused the tension.

He walked up to the two fairly well dressed men guarding a door. The other tenants of the room did not look up as if they were scared that they would be caught look. Mycroft still had a cigarette placed lazily in his mouth and walked straight up to the door. The guard on the left extended his hand to block it.

"Look mate you either need to move your hand or lose it." Mycroft snarled.

"You really want to take me on tubby?" The guard said with a smirk.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. He threw down his cigarette and stomped it down onto the floor. He sucked in his gut and looked at the guard straight in the eye. The guard didn't appear to care and wore a smug grin on his face. The other one joined in and even let out a chuckle or two.

"Call me tubby one more time..." Mycroft said slowly.

"I thought fat people were supposed to be jolly." The second guard joked.

"So be it." Mycroft said, before cracking his knuckles.

- :) -

Moriarty sat in his untidy new abode. His eyes were focused on the city as he planned how he would track down and somehow capture the most dangerous man of the north. A loud thud came from the door. Moriarty raised one eyebrow.

"Help." One of his guards shouted.

"I'm sorry." The other one said.

Moriarty tutted and waited. He kicked his desk childishly until the sound of four loud thuds made it in. Well that was the second line of defence also broken. He leant back on his chair as he heard more and more of his men grunting and thudding. From the sound of it the intruder was some kind of super human but that did not matter to him. The henchman that stood behind him began to walk forward. Moriarty stopped him with one finger.

"No." He said. "I want to meet this man."

"But sir he could be dangerous or armed!" The henchman said.

"No gun.." Moriarty said. "Even with the best silencer in the world I can detect it."

"He could have a knife." The henchmen continued.

"And if he does we shall stop him before he comes near." Moriarty said. "Lordy, you're the one who is supposed to scare the people and here you are getting afraid of a little knife."

"Sir I don't think you're taking this threat seriously." The henchman said.

"And why would I do that?" Moriarty said. "That's so boring."

Mycroft Holmes entered the room moments later as if prompted by a cue. His hair was slightly out of place and his cheeks were of a red shade. Lying bodies of unconscious men were strewn behind him along with a broken table or two.

"Hello Mr Moriaty." Mycroft said in his most proper of voices. "I believe you know my brother."

"Another Holmes!" Moriarty said. "How fun!"

**15 is FINALLY DONE (Let's party!)**

**Will Mycroft capture Moriarty?**

**Will Sherlock ever be proven innocent?**

**Will Mycroft take up kung fu fighting?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME!**


	16. Chapter 16: Drama

**Shock...**

**Ok...bit of a warning now. This is the penultimate chapter so one more and it's finally done! *skips around like a loony*. So where were we? Oh yes Mycroft VS Moriarty...the battle of the people with names beginning with 'M'.**

**Warning: It's going to have to involve an umbrella**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Mr Holmes...**

"You don't look surprised Moriarty..." Mycroft said, striding towards the Irish man. "Have I become predictable?"

"Only to someone like myself." Moriarty replied back. "And let's be honest I'm one of a kind."

"You're very sure of yourself James." Mycroft said slowly. The distance between them was getting lessened by the second.

"Please Mycroft call me Jim." Moriarty said in an almost conversational tone.

"I shall stick to James but thank you for the courtesy." Mycroft said. "Now I suppose you know why I'm here."

"And I will do nothing of the sort." Moriarty said, and then added in a high voice. "Way too boring...a bit like your brother really. Oh yes...I went there"

"Yes I heard about your recent distain about my brother." Mycroft said calmly. "Rather bipolar don't you feel?"

"Well I'm so changeable." Moriarty replied before asking. "So where is your weapon?"

"My weapon?" Mycroft asked innocently.

"You took out the entire room, and you are questioning the idea you had a weapon?" Moriarty said. "And I was told you were smart. You've disappointed me now...look at my face...it's all sad."

Moriarty pointed to his face and did a sad face with his bottom lip protruding so vulgarly it almost laugh worthy. Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"Enough." He said, and retracted his faithful umbrella.

"An umbrella." Moriarty said as he moved towards Mycroft. "Wow...that is impressive. No gun hidden inside, and not even a concealed knife..."

"So will you come with me James?" Mycroft asked. "Or will we have to do it the hard way?"

"Isn't there a fun way?" Moriarty asked menacingly.

"I'm bored of you." Mycroft said.

"Oh...you stole my line." Moriarty laughed. "Oh naughty boy..."

"This is it." Mycroft said, his umbrella hanging by his side.

"Bring it on chubby." Moriarty said.

"You're going to regret that James." Mycroft replied.

"Jim." Moriaty said with a delighted face.

"Whatever." Mycroft said.

He moved towards Moriarty until the men were so close it was almost dangerous. The body guard stepped forward and overshadowed the Irish man. Moriarty extended one arm and said clearly.

"No. This is between me and Holmes."

Mycroft held his umbrella up. Moriarty smirked. The body guard obviously knew what this meant and flung a pair of leather gloves towards him. He caught them effortlessly and put them on. He gave a menacing look to Mycroft and grabbed a nearby fire poker which was still red from the heat. Moriarty took one step to the left, and so did Mycroft. They held out their items as if they were fencing swords. They did not speak but with each glance they gave it spoke words to the other. The bodyguard stood back and looked upon in curiosity.

Moriarty was the first to lunge with a swipe towards Mycroft's left leg. Mycroft blocked it with his umbrella. There was a hiss and Mycroft looked down. There was a singe mark on his umbrella. He looked up at Moriarty.

"Oh now it's war." Mycroft said.

He flicked his umbrella and Moriarty staggered back. He retained his composure though and picked himself up with dignity. He arched his eyebrow and twirled the fire poker. Mycroft stayed on his spot and held up his umbrella. The body guard looked back and forth between the two men with a shocked look on his face.

"Oh you're good Holmes." Moriarty said. "But I'm just better."

Moriarty walked forward with definite strides. Mycroft did not move or lunge towards him. He was a patient man and he knew that Moriarty was not. Moriarty stood a few feet in front of him and for a single moment the two men just stared at each other. Moriarty bared his teeth at the politician in a canny cynical smile.

"Go on." Moriarty mocked him. "Strike first...live dangerous..."

"Good things come to those who wait." Mycroft panted.

"But that's so boring." Moriarty said. "Look at us just standing here so..."

Moriarty extended his fire poker, to which Mycroft lunged to the side. He did not lunge enough, and the fire poker caught his leg. He stumbled slightly and let out an involuntary gasp of pain. Moriarty circled him like a vulture and placed the poker inches away from his head.

"Boring." Moriaty finished. Mycroft remained in a half hunched position. Moriarty kicked Mycroft, leading the politician to fall to the floor. He smirked and said. "Well that was fun Mr Holmes...but I believe now is the time to say goodbye."

Mycroft did not respond and remained keeled over on the floor. Moriarty bent down and scanned the man. He was unlike Sherlock in more ways than even Moriarty had thought. He rubbed the fire poker in his hand and then put it on his back.

"What a shame..." Moriarty tutted as he studied the man. "You're usually so much more smartly dressed."

Mycroft suddenly rolled to the side. The poker had dragged across his back and had torn through his clothes. He let out a groan of pain and jumped to his feet with his umbrella. The poker remained in Moriarty's hand and the man looked absolutely gleeful. Mycroft lunged forward and caught the man in the stomach. He was winded momentarily but that didn't stop him. They then jumped into action. Mycroft reached forward and Moriarty blocked him. The two held onto their weapons as they curled it around. Both fell back and panted slightly but that didn't stop them. They lunged for each other and fenced as if they were both back at school. The body guard backed off. Mycroft got Moriarty in the shoulder, and Moriarty got him back in the leg.

Mycroft fell backwards and pressed himself against the wall. His brow was sweaty and blood was beginning to stain his trousers. He panted heavily and looked forward. The dangerous face of Moriarty was approaching him closely. Time was beginning to run out.

- :) -

Sherlock lay on his bed and looked down at his useless legs. There were several cuts and burns from where he had attempted to test the true extent of his paralysis. It appeared that the doctors were indeed right, and from their faces from when they had seen his experiments were annoyed that he didn't trust them earlier. The sound of the door clicked open.

"Lestrade." Sherlock greeted him coolly. He then turned to face the detective. He was not alone, and was with Anthea dressed in a rather unattractive pair of scrubs. "Well that is unusual attire."

"Sherlock, this is serious." Anthea said.

"I can tell." Sherlock said. He caught a glimpse of her hand. There was a slight amount of glazing on her left nail. Presumably from a doughnut of some kind- possible a Danish but from the position of it he doubted it. He looked up at her and said clearly. "A woman like you would not forsake her diet for nothing."

"And what makes you say I need to diet?" Anthea said.

"A woman of your age...you'd be mad not to." Sherlock said. Anthea opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted.

"Look that's enough." Lestrade said to her, he then turned to Sherlock and said. "Sherlock is there anything you aren't telling us?"

"I stole your badge." Sherlock said retracting Lestrade's badge out of his blanket.

"Sherlock that's official police property..." Lestrade said taking a swing to get it. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and placed it back. Lestrade let out a sigh of frustration and said. "Oh never mind...look do you have any idea where your brother is."

"He'll be with Moriarty." Sherlock said.

"And how the hell do you know that?" Anthea asked with her arms crossed over her stomach.

"He went to see our mother." Sherlock said.

"How could you possibly know that?" Lestrade asked.

"She left me a card." Sherlock said. He then pulled out a card with a picture of bears hugging and the title 'To the world's best son'. Lestrade grabbed it off him and looked inside.

_Mycroft has gone to see Moriaty_

_LH_

"But she hasn't been here." Lestrade muttered as he read. He then looked up and asked loudly and with an annoyed voice. "How on earth did she get it into here without the police noticing?"

"She may have had an umbrella." Anthea said sombrely "Those are dangerous things when put into the hands of a Holmes."

Lestrade looked round at Sherlock who was nodding in agreement. Lestrade shook his head and scowled.

"What?" He complained before turning to Sherlock and asking. "Didn't you see her?"

"I was sleeping." Sherlock said dismissively.

"That's unlike you." Anthea pooled in.

"It wasn't voluntary." Sherlock said darkly.

"And where is Moriarty?" Lestrade asked.

"That I don't know." Sherlock said. "I'd need access to a good phone...with internet of course."

All eyes turned to Anthea. She rolled her eyes and handed her blackberry over. Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"I thought I had confiscated it off you." Lestrade said.

"She pick pocketed off you." Sherlock said. He typed furiously on her phone and presented the phone to the two people. "North West England...Manchester. Squat by the new building site just out of the city centre."

They both scanned the phone. Anthea rolled her eyes and snatched the phone.

"We'll never get there in time." She said.

"That's right...even the fast train is two hours." Lestrade pitched in.

"Then what can we do?" She asked.

"I'm not answering till you give me the information you know I want." Sherlock said. Anthea looked incredulously at him and then at Lestrade.

"Look John went voluntarily." Lestrade said.

"So did Mycroft." Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock he doesn't want to be found." Lestrade protested.

"He doesn't know what he wants." Sherlock said, his voice just a decibel or two under a full on shout. "He's with that woman...she's poisoned him."

"Sherlock please we will find him." Lestrade reasoned. "But to find him we need to prove your innocence."

"What has finding Mycroft got to do with proving my innocence." Sherlock said simply. "Moriarty will just escape again."

"It's the closest thing we've got." Lestrade begged. "Please Sherlock tell us what to do."

Sherlock paused for a moment before saying simply.

"Wait."

"Dear God this has been a bloody waste of time..." Anthea said.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade said.

"I have nothing more to say." Sherlock said. "So save your pleasantries for those who will appreciate it."

Anthea didn't bother waiting and walked out without much fuss. Lestrade waited a few seconds longer before saying.

"You can be a real arse, you know that?"

He then looked at the lying detective before walking out himself.

Sherlock lay there and looked up. He knew what his brother was doing and he calculated that he had around a fifty percent chance of succeeding. He also knew that this was one of the last chances to prove Sherlock's innocence...allowing him to be able to search for John. Though Lestrade had claimed that the investigation was still on for John, he doubted it was one of their highest priorities. It was only a matter of time before he disappeared into the system of the drug addled world.

- :) -

Moriarty held the poker a few centimetres away from Mycroft's neck. The man stood there with his eyes looking straight at the man. He didn't cry, he didn't shake and he didn't even clench his fists. Moriarty retracted it and began to swing it in his hand.

"You know it's going to be a shame to kill you..." He said. "This is oh so fun."

"Don't toy with me James." Mycroft panted. "If you want to kill me, kill me."

"But then it'd be over and it'd be the boring part when I have to hide the body!" Moriarty said with his eyes rolling. "It's all messy and trivial..."

"I'm not going to beg." Mycroft said, his body slipping slightly down the wall. His hands could no longer support him. He could feel himself falling

"And I don't expect you to." Moriarty said as looked upon the man with a smile. "I just want a talk...a chit chat...a natter...a heart to heart..."

"Do you expect me to listen to your drabbles?" Mycroft said, though his voice was little more than a whisper. He continued to fall down to the floor. Moriarty bent with him until the politician was sitting slumped on the floor and Moriarty was crouched over him.

"You look so weak right now." Moriarty said, he then extracted his phone and pointing it towards him. "I have to send a picture."

Mycroft looked at the camera loathingly.

"Come on now smile." Moriarty said. Mycroft remained in his stony glare. Moriarty took the picture and presented it to Mycroft. "Oh you look so good...like a smoulder look."

Mycroft did not look at the phone and instead stared straight into Moriarty's eyes. The criminal didn't seem bothered by this and replied to his stare with a brilliant smile. He then clicked the send button.

- :) -

Lestrade's phone vibrated in his pocket. He reached down and picked it up absent mindedly. It wasn't a recognized number. He looked down at the 'one new message' screen. He shrugged his shoulders and opened it. That wasn't a really an issue for him for his work often left him being called and texts from strange numbers off police officers undercover. He opened the message and his eyes widened immediately.

"What is it?" Anthea asked.

_Is this the best you've got?_

_M x_

Lestrade swallowed and scrolled down. A picture of Mycroft displayed itself on his screen. He gasped as he saw it. Anthea looked down too. The man was almost unrecognizable. His head was shaven and he wore cheap clothing. His face was sweaty and he glared ahead with a significant glare. Blood was present in the corner of the photo and from the circles under his eyes it was easy to tell he had been sleeping rough.

"God it's happening." Anthea said.

"What?" Lestrade asked. She didn't reply and instead walked straight back into Sherlock's room. The guards didn't even attempt to question her. Lestrade raised his arms. "Dear God I'm supposed to be in charge here."

"Are you ok Sir?" The guard on the left asked with a smirk.

"Piss of Harding." Lestrade replied back. He turned back, and stormed down the corridor and towards the exit of the hospital. He needed a cigarette.

- :) -

"Sherlock..." Anthea said as she stormed in. She froze on the spot she entered and examined the room. The bed sat there with the IV drip and some blood leaking over it. She examined the room and called out. "Sherlock?"

There was no response. This was impossible. They had only just left, literally for maybe a minute or possibly two. He didn't have movement in his leg so he couldn't have gone out of the window unless he had help. But who would help him? There were police outside the hospital and outside his room. It made no sense. She stormed forward and checked everywhere. She then looked out the window. There was a line of sheets which were tied together and lead to a van labelled "Angelo's". She caught a glimpse of dark hair.

"SHERLOCK!" She shouted.

The two guards came running in. They ran to the window and looked down. The van was driving away by now. Anthea glared at them and asked.

"How the hell did he do that unattended?"

"That's none of your business." The tallest one said.

"Oh really." Anthea said. She reached in the pocket of the scrubs and picked out her ID. She displayed it to them and said. "I'm with MI6 and you two are so fired."

- :) -

Sherlock lay in the back of Angelo's van panting like crazy. It was hard enough heaving himself out of the bed without use of his legs let alone descending out of the window. It was then that he realized that his mother's inscencent fitness regimes were actually of use. He had fallen off the rope at around the second floor, but had been caught by one of Angelo's waiters. Angelo put his foot down on the pedal and soon enough the hospital was becoming a distant building in the background.

"So where are we going to Sherlock?" Angelo asked.

"Baker Street." Sherlock panted. "221 B"

"Are you crazy Sherlock?" Angelo said. "That's the first place they will look for you!"

"And it's the only place I'll find the information." Sherlock replied back.

"You're mad." Angelo replied back.

"Brilliance runs parallel to it." Sherlock said. "Or so I find anyway."

- :) -

Mycroft sat on the floor with his last breaths in sight. He shuddered as the poker came closer and closer towards him. He did not say anything. He knew he was going to die, but he was going to die as a man. He looked up at his opponent in the eye with a straight face.

"You're making this so boring." Moriarty said. "I just thought I should tell you."

At that moment the light began to flicker. The two men's eyes diverted from each other towards the light. Moriarty nodded to his body guard and the man walked over towards the switch. It went black.

"Well this is exciting!" Moriarty's voice pierced through the darkness.

A thud came from the darkness. Mycroft did not say anything and instead attempted to distinguish things from the darkness without prevail. Another thud came before the lights switched on. The body guard was tied to the chair and Moriarty was lying at his feet. His mother, Mrs Holmes, stood behind him with a book held up.

"I told you that you should have eaten more carrots." She said. "Seeing in the dark is such a valuable skill."

"Is that what I think it is?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes Mycroft." She said. "Mummy has found the book which will get Sherlock out of his sticky wicket."

**Chapter 16...Done dusted and all dramatic**

**Will the book really prove Sherlock's innocence?**

**Will Sherlock be caught?**

**Will Lestrade ever really give up smoking?**

**FIND OUT NEXT TIME**


	17. Chapter 17: Final

**Shock...**

**Welcome to the very last instalment of the story. Sherlock's innocence finally has proof, Moriarty has been taken care of and Sherlock has escaped in a pizza van. The only missing piece of the puzzle is to save Johnny boy!**

**Sorry (times however long it's been) for the delay, I have been lured into vast amounts of sleep and supernatural watching!**

**Warning: Slashdom **

**Disclaimer: Sherlock no mine *grammar mistake intended***

Mycroft hobbled into the car with his mother. Moriarty lay between the two seats tied and gagged skilfully by the Mrs Holmes. Mycroft for once felt empathy with the psychopath as he two had experienced that on his eighteenth birthday when he had sneaked out without her permission.

"Mummy, what are we going to do?" Mycroft asked. "We can't take the car all the way to London."

"How do you think I got here?" Mrs Holmes asked.

"But mummy it will be six hours before we return to London." Mycroft said.

"I know son." Mrs Holmes said, patting her son on the arm.

"But mummy, Sherlock will not wait and...and..." Mycroft said, and with those last words he looked down at his arm. A needle was placed so effortlessly in his arm. He took one last look at his mother, scandalised to the core, before then falling to his side.

"Sleep my child." Mrs Holmes said, and drove off into the distance.

- :) -

Sherlock sat in his chair with his old laptop on his dead knees. The wheelchair that Angelo had in the back of his van (which Sherlock had presumed was stolen) was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and Angelo who has carried Sherlock up, despite his protests, was sitting by him. The two waiters who had accompanied them were in the kitchen inspecting the contents of one of his conical flasks.

"Don't touch anything." Sherlock snarled from behind the screen.

"We're not doing anything." One of them protested.

"You were thinking about it." Sherlock snapped. "And you were thinking too loudly."

"How can you think too loudly?" The other one asked.

"Seeing as you are the one doing it I am sure you can figure it out." Sherlock hissed.

"But..." The first one said.

"Michael...leave it.." Angelo warned him.

Sherlock spoke no more and delved further and further into the ministry system. It was surprisingly easy with a basic knowledge of programming and a deep understanding of his brother to get into the system, but it became increasingly harder to hack the files. Only non-sensical and trivial documents could be accessed by him as the important things were protected with armies of firewalls.

"Damn it." Sherlock growled, slamming two hands down on the device.

"What's the plan Sherlock?" Angelo asked.

"There is no damn plan Angelo!" Sherlock said back. "My dear brother has made sure that is impossible."

"But Sherlock you always have a plan." Angelo said, the large Italian man swooping down to the level of the detective.

"Give me a minute." Was Sherlock's reply as he typed in slowly.

_Lance Winthrop _

- :) -

Sherlock Holmes met up with Harris Winthrop at two in the afternoon that day. He had not met up with the man in a while and yet memories of their former encounters were etched firmly on Sherlock's memory. Harris didn't look bothered and with his usual calm demeanour he walked into 221B Baker Street. He looked around it, and let out a small low whistle.

"Well this is a bit fancier than your old place..." Harris said, he then turned to Sherlock and said. "But then again, you were never bothered about the home life before."

Angelo sat in the corner of the room and stared at the man with narrowed eyes. The waiters which had accompanied him before had retreated to the kitchen and were trying to busy themselves with finding anything edible in Sherlock's kitchen. So far they had failed in their quest.

"I'm not here for small chat Winthrop." Sherlock said.

"You never were one for that, were you Sherlock?" Harris said. "Always wanted to get straight down to business."

"I'm not here for your products..." Sherlock said.

"That's what they all say." Harris said, he then approached the man and looked him in the eyes. Sherlock's eyes shifted to the left. "Once the addict, always the addict, that's what keeps me in business."

Angelo tried to divert his eyes away from the scene. Sherlock nodded to him, and he got up and joined the waiters in the kitchen. Sherlock then turned his attention back to Harris and gave a trademark false smile.

"I'm here for information." Sherlock said.

"I'm not grassing." Harris said immediately.

"I think you'll find that you are." Sherlock said. "You see, I'm not as naive as I was before."

Sherlock looked at the man, up and down, and began to analyze him internally. Harris stood there, a swift smile gracing his face, without a care in the world. He didn't seem to mind that Sherlock was doing that and instead seemed to embrace it.

"Your girlfriend's cheating on you." Sherlock said simply.

"I thought as much." Harris said back, he then let out a low laugh. "Can you tell me something that I don't know?"

"It's with your brother...Lance I believe his name is." He then said.

Harris took one look at Sherlock and his nostrils flared. He turned away and paced up and down the room twice. His footsteps were heavy and his movement caused one of the waiters to grab a kitchen knife, only to be stopped by Angelo.

"Impossible." Harris said, turning to face Sherlock.

"Why?" Sherlock said with a knowing smile.

"My brother's dead." Harris said.

"Oh no my friend he faked his death, what's bad is that you knew it all along, you just didn't want to admit it." Sherlock said.

Harris froze. He turned away from Sherlock and began to pace back and forth again. He reached in his side pocket, and then turned to face Sherlock once more. The detective reached in his pocket and showed the gun to the dealer. As Harris reached forward he threw it out of the window. Harris swore as it crashed.

"And why would this make me tell you anything?" Harris said.

"If you tell me where I can find a certain dealer...then I can tell you where your brother is." Sherlock said.

"Don't you have some kind of moral objection to that? You know what I'll do to him." Harris said.

Sherlock knew everything that the police knew about Lance and from his frequent visits to prisons, courts and appointed psychiatrists there was little they didn't seem to know. He wasn't a good person, though if he deserved the fate that Harris was going to deliver was questionable. But at this point this was the last desperate measure of an illogical Sherlock.

"I also know what he's done." Sherlock said, and then reluctantly added. "So can you tell me?"

"Who you looking for?" Harris said.

"Harry Watson." Sherlock said.

- :) -

Sherlock sat in the back of the van with his laptop on his lap. The back of the van was crowded with his wheelchair and three waiters. Angelo sat in the front and had a look of worry etched onto his face, which had been there since the drug dealer had entered the flat. He slid the car over to the side and pulled over. He then turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock I don't trust this man." Angelo said.

"He's a dealer Angelo, you'd be a fool if you did." Sherlock said simply.

"But what if he is leading you into danger?" Angelo said.

"He is leading me into danger..." Sherlock said, and the waiters around him gasped. "But that's the thing I want to find."

"But Sherlock you're weak..." Angelo said.

It was touching that the cafe owner, having not known Sherlock that deeply, still cared for him but for Sherlock Holmes those feelings were irrelevant. They were not of use, and if anything hindered his ability to find John Watson, at least that was his excuse for replying so carelessly.

"Angelo drive, let me worry about the practicalities." Sherlock said.

"But Sherlock..." Angelo said.

"Just go." Sherlock said.

Angelo opened his mouth, as if to retaliate, and then closed it. He looked forward and hesitated as his hand twisted the ignition. The van was filled with silence as they moved towards the address that Harris Winthrop had given them in hope that this wouldn't be Sherlock's last journey.

- :) -

Sherlock drummed his fingers against the door frame. He went over what he would do as he entered the room. He had imagined the worst possibilities, and had analyzed how likely each one was. He knew that there was around a fifty percent chance that John was dead already and a seventy percent chance that the state he would find him in wouldn't be irreversible. He took one last breath before wheeling in.

The room was dusky, there was junk everywhere and in the corner there was drug making equipment which was not disguised in the least bit. It made Sherlock wonder how much they had bribed the police because from the state of the room the police around the area were more moral than most.

"John..." Sherlock called out. "John..."

There was a scuffle behind him. Human feet, size ten, and he was wearing one battered trainer. Sherlock's eyes scanned the surrounding area. A dark figure emerged from the shadows. The detective stepped forward cautiously and put his hand on his gun.

"John..." He said.

The scuffle was closer that time. Sherlock spun on his wheels and turned to face the perpetrator. There face was consumed by the shadows, but still definite enough to make out the distinguishing features. Sherlock rolled towards the haggard and almost unrecognizable John Watson.

"John it's me." Sherlock said.

"No it can't..." John said, almost in hysterics. "You're dead...you're dead."

The doctor stumbled back into the darkness further. Sherlock raised a single eyebrow and rolled closer to the doctor. John's eyes were wide, his skin was pale and his weight was several stone lighter. From whimsical predictions Sherlock guessed that he hadn't eaten for four days...no wait...he ate a chocolate bar two days ago. The man was drunk, and from the stains in the apartment and the yellow shade his eyes had become, Sherlock guessed this wasn't a rarity.

"Obviously not..." Sherlock said cautiously.

"This isn't real..." John muttered to himself. "It's the drink...the drink."

"John are you ok?" A female voice asked from the next room.

"Harry..." Sherlock muttered.

A woman, with looks not too dissimilar to John, walked into the room. Her eyes and mouth both immediately reacted in astonishment. She reached into her pockets and grabbed a gun. She pointed it towards the detective.

"Now I know you've gone down low..." Sherlock said to the girl. "But shooting a handicapable person?"

"How did you find us?" Harry said, as she advanced on the man.

Sherlock looked back at John. He had never seen the man so vulnerable, and that included seeing him strapped against the chair with Moriarty pointing a gun to him. No matter what the ex-army doctor had done before he always held himself with such dignity, and now here he was stumbling with stains on his shirt and giggling to himself. It sickened Sherlock to even see the man in such a condition, let alone be face to face with the woman who did it.

"It wasn't hard..." Sherlock said, his eyes snapping to the woman. "You're not nearly as talented as you think you are."

"Get out." Harry shouted, her gun mere centimetres away from his stomach. She then put her finger on the trigger and whispered. "Now."

"Why would I be scared of a gun which isn't loaded?" Sherlock muttered.

Harry swore and threw the gun down. John didn't react, he didn't flinch. She stepped towards Sherlock and pushed his wheelchair to the edge of the room. She grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and held him to the back of it.

"Stay away from him." She warned him. "I know people who can get you Holmes."

Sherlock didn't move and looked straight into the woman's eyes. She was intoxicated, not as much as John but from the way she was trembling it wouldn't be long before. She had cuts on her hands, and the beginnings of track marks were on her arms. She was in drugs- testing possibly but more likely she had moved onto dealing now. She was feared, that was clear by the lack of scars on her face but abundant ones on her knuckles. Sherlock was beginning to think he'd soon know how she got them...

- :) -

Mrs Holmes slammed her foot on the pedal and skidded around the corner. Mycroft sat, half unconscious and drooling on the seat next to her, and Moriarty lay in the back two seats. All in all it was a usual night for the intrepid woman. She sped full speed over the speed bump and both of the unconscious men fell forward.

"Whoospy daisy boys." She excused herself.

She was getting close. She looked down at her watch. It was about to draw to a close, Sherlock was there, and in fact her motherly instinct told her that she had a matter of minutes before the first shot was fired. She skidded round the final corner and the sight of the house came to her view.

- :) -

Sherlock sat there in shock as she approached him. She didn't smile, she didn't laugh, and she seemed almost reluctant in her movements. She grabbed his collar and threw him out of the chair. Sherlock struggled to sit up as Harry advanced closer towards him. He then resorted to dragging himself across the carpet.

"The great Sherlock Holmes on my floor...resorting to desperately crawling away." Harry said. "It must be Christmas."

Sherlock fell to the floor and felt Harry's foot in-between his shoulder blades. There was an item in her hands, he suspected it was blunt, but at this angle that could still be deadly. He had come so close to saving John Watson, and yet here he was, about to be killed on the floor like a common dog. He tried to struggle but it was all in vain.

"Don't struggle..." Harry said. "I would have thought a man like you would want to die in dignity."

Sherlock swallowed and shut his eyes. Death, the inevitable end, was going to be a cold and messy affair. Harry raised the footstool above her head and she let out an evil cackle. Her eyes set on the head of black curls and her target was set. John watched this from the corner of the room, and he rocked back and forth. This couldn't be happening. She began to lower her arm and he knew there was only one thing he could do. He leaped up and threw himself at his sister.

"John what are you doing?" Harry cried out as the siblings flew across the room.

With a thud, he hit the wall, and slid down. The room disappeared into darkness for the young gentlemen and Harry looked in horror at what she had done. Sherlock turned himself over and looked down at the doctor. A small dribble of blood fell from the doctor's head. He turned to Harry Watson.

"I will make you pay for my brother..." Harry said, grabbing Sherlock by the collar and pressing him against the wall. "And this time, I'm going to make it hurt."

The door flew open knocking both Sherlock and Harry to the floor. A small figure, with light bursting from behind walked into the room in what could only be described as a waddle. In her hand was an umbrella, a floral one to be exact, and in the other was a packet of toffees. She walked towards the scene tutting and Harry looked at the woman with shock. Mrs Holmes moved effortlessly towards Harry and tutted softly.

"Dear I think you have hit the end of the road." Mrs Holmes said, her umbrella pointed at Harry.

"Who the hell is she?" Harry said though she did not look at Sherlock.

Sherlock took advantage of the distraction and pulled himself towards John. He cradled the doctor in his arms, and checked his pulse. He was breathing, and as he inspected it further the wound to his head seemed superficial. He held onto the man with all of his might.

"Who is she? The cat's mother?" Mrs Holmes said.

"Are you joking?" Harry said, scrambling to her feet.

"Don't try and kid a kidder darling." Mrs Holmes said. "Now I'll give you the opportunity to give yourself up with a bit of dignity love."

"I think I'll take my chances." Harry said.

"So be it." Mrs Holmes said.

Mrs Holmes advanced on Harry with her umbrella. She hit the woman swiftly in the stomach, then in the legs. The woman stumbled backwards and growled. Harry ran towards her and landed a punch straight to the elderly woman's jaw. Mrs Holmes brandished her umbrella and jabbed under Harry's knees. Harry stumbled back onto the fireplace, knocking several bottles flying. Sherlock shielded Watson from the glass shards. Mrs Holmes advanced on the woman and whacked the woman across the face with her umbrella. Harry gave one last loathing look, before falling to the floor. Mrs Holmes looked down.

"Oh what a shame...it's a nice carpet." Mrs Holmes said.

Mrs Holmes put a toffee in her mouth, and shook her head in a manner not dissimilar to the one she did to when Einstein (their old family dog) did his business on the rug. She moved over towards Sherlock and Watson and bent down to them. Sherlock pulled Watson towards him tighter.

"Now let's get you two home." Mrs Holmes said. "You need an early night after all this excitement."

And for once even Sherlock Holmes had to agree.

- :) -

John's eyes fluttered open and he saw the familiar living room of 221B Baker Street. There was a smell of nitric acid, and tea filling the air- in short it smelt like it did every other day. Mess was placed strategically over all available surfaces and the skull had taken its old place on the fireplace mantle. He got up and moved towards the kitchen and he saw a wheelchair laden person.

"You're awake." A familiar voice said. John turned around and the pale face of Sherlock Holmes greeted him. John stumbled backwards and knocked over two beakers and a bottle of gin.

"You're alive?" He said.

"So I hear." Sherlock replied.

"But Harry said..." John replied.

"Your sister is a liar." Sherlock said.

John paused for a moment as the actual severity of the situation dawned on him. He looked down at Sherlock and said quietly.

"Why are you in a wheelchair?"

"Poison I think..." Sherlock commented as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Not the best thing in the world I must confess but it shall only be for a few more weeks...so I have been told anyway."

"My head hurts." Watson said quietly.

"You've been intoxicated solidly for over a week now." Sherlock said.

Watson's eyes widened and he panted. He slid down the counter and looked up. It was all so obvious now, and yet still he couldn't imagine how he allowed it to happen. He looked down at himself properly and he noticed how frail his frame had become. He reached down into his pocket and retracted a hip flask. He flung it across the room in horror.

"But...no..." He said to himself. "I can't..."

"You can't what?" Sherlock said.

"I've seen it before...I'm a doctor for God's sake..." John Watson said back.

"Apart from Lawyers I have heard doctors are the most alcoholic profession." Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock. Had the man, who was so unsympathetic to everything, just offering some condolence for the situation. Though it was presented with cold hard facts John felt a wave of appreciation. Rationality however was a cruel mistress to John and he immediately snapped back into panic. His first thing on his mind, the health of said detective.

"But how did you..." John said. "You were..."

"The staff at St Bart's hospital aren't the most intelligent of people." Sherlock said.

"You look awful..." John said, and then immediately regretted it afterwards.

"I think John you must look at yourself before saying that." Sherlock said.

"You're tact never fails to outstand me Sherlock."

"Neither does your stupidity Watson."

John then ran to shut the curtains and wheeled Sherlock into the safety of the downstairs bedroom. The detective protested, though weakly, and looked at John with a single raised eyebrow. John looked at him frantically.

"Sherlock you shouldn't be here." He said.

"And why is that?" Sherlock said.

"The case...the murder...accusations..." John continued.

"Cleared, my brother found Moriarty and he is now facing imprisonment for life." Sherlock said.

John let out a happy sigh and for a moment felt the almost irresistible need to hug the man. It was all over, or so it seemed. His happiness however seemed to upset the detective who looked at him with pursed lips.

"I'm so sorry." John said.

"Don't be." Sherlock said. "It's all ok now, Mrs Hudson is fixing your room, and life shall carry on as normal.."

John leant on his knees by Sherlock's wheelchair and smiled at him. He studied the man's face and the only way to describe Sherlock's face was one of mild bemusement. He was silenced, and for a man like Sherlock, it was something that John had only seen twice, and both times Moriarty had been the open to do it. A sense of pride swept over John as he had managed the impossible without even speaking.

"Sherlock, what if I don't want it to go to normal?" John said.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said, diverting his eyes.

"What if, I have discovered something?" John said.

"With you it seems unlikely." Sherlock said, a gentle smile on his face.

"You know for such a good detective you know nothing of hints do you?" John said.

John reached forward to Sherlock Holmes and touched his cheek. Sherlock looked at the doctor and for that moment the whole ordeal was wiped out of both of their minds. Sherlock cradled John's overgrown hair in his hands and pulled him into a tender kiss. Their lips intertwined and a sudden warmth hit them both. As they parted a smile was left on their faces and a memory was etched on their mindss which would last both of them a life time. It was a perfect moment in 221 B Baker Street.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes." John said.

"And I love you John Watson." Sherlock replied.

**My goodness, was a lot of hard work but it is DONE *breaks out the bucks fizz*. Now thank you so much to all of the people who reviewed this story- you really did make it worthwhile to me. And another thanks to those who favourited/story alerted this story, glad some people liked it :)**

**Now I've got two ideas what I could do next. One is a sequel called 'Toxic' which shows Sherlock's struggle with fidelity. The other one is a prequel called 'Alone' in which it shows how Sherlock and John were before they met. If you could let me know which one you'd like via reviews or PM that'd be brilliant.**

***Takes breath after major long Author Note* THANKYOU**


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